Farewell to the Mat
by daccu65
Summary: With graduation behind them, Kim and Ron look forward to a quiet summer before college. See how that pans out for them, their friends and enemies. Story three of my 'To the Mat' series. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's foreword: Before anything else, let's take care of the obvious. I do not own Kim Possible or any of the other characters appearing in this tale. This story is not intended to generate profit, I wrote it simply for the enjoyment of telling a story and, hopefully, for your enjoyment in reading._

_Some background: this is the third story in my 'To the Mat' story line. As such, I have made some significant alteration to the show's canon. You, the reader, will find this story much more understandable if you read the previous two stories before continuing with this one. _

_Important news before reading: This story takes place during the summer between the main characters' high school graduation and their first years of college. As such, they are becoming more adult and their interactions are also becoming more adult. While nothing in this story is graphic, some of the characters will have honest discussions about their relationships. I'm not pushing the rating but I want you to know before you read._

_Now that all warnings and legal issues are taken care of, please enjoy…_

* * *

Chapter 1: Prelude

Mark didn't know what he should do. When he took this job as a dock guard, he thought he'd see a lot of boring nights wandering around the docks and sharing stories with sailors when he made his rounds. During his time in the guard shack, he hoped he could get a little bookwork done towards his college degree. For the last several months, things had worked out exactly the way he had hoped but tonight he faced something…odd.

He had made the early rounds of the docks just before sunset, swapped some stories with the deck guard on a newly docked freighter, then returned to the guard shack for a little studying while his partner walked the rounds. (Mark always found listening to a sailor's stories, followed by studying psychology, an interesting combination.) When his partner, Trevor, returned, Mark had put on his heavy coat and gone out into the night to walk the rounds again. That's when he came across the footprints, outlined in water on the dock's wooden surface.

Mark had never put much faith in Bigfoot sightings, even though he lived in Seattle. Still, he could hardly refute what he was seeing; a trail of massive footprints leading along the dock. Mark wasn't a very large man, wearing a size nine shoe. However, when he placed his foot next to one of the prints, the wet outline was easily twice the length and girth of his foot. Mark figured that one of the sailors, on one of the docked ships, was playing a trick on him so he backtracked the trail, to find the ship it came from. Here, he had another surprise.

The footprints didn't lead from the gangplank; they originated on the dock about halfway down the ship's length, well away from any gangplank. The edge of the dock also had a massive, wet handprint. It was almost as if some…giant…had crawled out of the sea, onto the dock and walked away. Mark grabbed his ledger and reviewed the information about this ship. It had come from that island where the industrialist, Mr. Loward, had tried to take over the world a few weeks ago. Reviewing further, Mark learned that the ship was loaded with the trashed remains of the robots Loward had built to spearhead his conquest.

Mark recalled the news stories. An international team and removed and destroyed all potentially dangerous technology from the…Lowardian Walkers…on the island, leaving behind tons of very high quality steel. Some company back east had bid the highest for the salvage rights and this ship had shown up early this morning, loaded with the metal. Unfortunately, they had only managed to offload about half of the load before some scheduling mistake with the railroads left the longshoremen with nowhere to offload the rest. With no more railcars scheduled to show up until morning, the ship's crew locked it down for the night. Now, it looked like at least one of the crewmen had decided to have some fun at the naïve, young guard's expense. Mark smiled and shone his light onto the nearby portholes, hoping to catch snickering sailors watching him. Seeing no faces he turned back towards the dock then spun back when his flashlight's beam illuminated something…different…on the ship's hull.

While the longshoremen hadn't managed to unload all of the ship's cargo, they had managed to unload enough so that it was now riding higher in the water. In this gap, between the 'before and after' waterlines, the moss and other marine growth had been disturbed in one spot. It almost looked like a vaguely man-shaped figure had been stuck to the hull, abrading the general junk that collected on the hull and preventing any more from accumulating. Focusing his flashlight, Mark noticed that several holes had been punched along one of the seams. Judging by the posture and position of the 'muck silhouette' that would make the holes…fingerholds?

That couldn't be the case! That vague outline had to be at least nine feet long! Sure, the freighter was double-hulled, so the bilge pumps would easily keep up with the minor leakage from the holes but really! Had someone planted this 'evidence' to make him think that some nine-foot tall man had ridden the ship's hull underwater to the Port of Seattle, before using the cover of dark to climb onto the dock and walk, barefoot, away from the ocean? Mark decided to follow the trail again, this time in its direction of travel. He was sure that he would find a smirking (and maybe drunk) crewman, wearing fake, giant feet and laughing at being caught.

For the first time since taking this job, Mark was happy about the damp night air; it kept the fading trail from drying completely. The perimeter fence was close to the sea at this point, so he only had to follow the trail past a warehouse and an equipment shed, then over two sets of railroad tracks, before approaching it. There he found, not a drunken crewman, but a hole cut in the chain-link fence! Without any further hesitation, Mark pulled out his radio and called in the incident. It was one thing for a crewman to play a prank on him, but once the prank involved violating the fence's integrity, it became serious. It was Mark's job, as a guard, to report such violations.

Still, why would a crewman cut a hole in the fence? Maybe he was jumping ship but if that was the case, why go to the trouble of laying out the weird footprints? Wouldn't a deserter try to avoid attention? Something very odd was happening in Seattle.

* * *

He stood at the doorway and looked into the dim room. The only light came from the hallway behind him, leaving much of the room in darkness. The floors, and a good deal of the walls, were covered with dark purple mats, making the room even darker. Still, even if he hadn't just walked here, he would have recognized the room by the smell.

Although the Middleton School District's custodians had done their usual, good job of cleaning this room when the season was done, even the best cleaning couldn't remove the sweaty smell for very long. Dozens of sweaty young men had thrown each other to the mats, had grappled and struggled on the mats, forcing their sweat into the mats' fibers. You could scrub the mats down repeatedly and within days, they would begin to emit the sweaty smell again.

While the scent wasn't exactly potpourri, it still brought a smile to Ron's face. It was this room, and the contributions he had made to the sweat-pool, that had done so much to put him where he was at this time. He leaned against the doorframe, his graduation robes rustling slightly with his movement. Shortly into his junior year of high school, he was a slacker; there was no getting around the fact. Yet the Yamanouchi School, backed up by this room, The Pit, had changed him.

He heard a steady, light tread approaching from down the hallway. While he wasn't exactly seeking privacy, there weren't too many people he wanted to share this moment with. He had a reputation for being a little bit…odd…and if someone saw him staring blankly into the Pit; it would cement his reputation.

"Saying goodbye?" The voice that asked the question belonged to one of the few people with whom Ron felt comfortable sharing his current, odd reflections.

"Kind of," Ron admitted, turning to look at Oscar Williamsen. "It's kind of hard to describe."

"Let me guess," the other young man leaned against the hallway wall and looked towards the ceiling, scratching thoughtfully at his chin. "While you aren't going to miss the starvation dieting and doing sprints until you're ready to pass out, you're going to miss the swagger. You're going to miss walking around the school knowing that you're one of the guys that put yourself through what we did, every day."

"Ah…that's part of it," Ron admitted.

"Add to that, you're kind of thanking this room, sort of a way of thanking the wrestling program, for…molding…you just a little bit. You learned lessons about hard work, determination and sacrifice," Oscar stopped speaking for a moment to smile at Ron. "That's saying something, considering what you do with Possible."

"So you don't think I'm weird for saying goodbye to the Pit?" Ron had to ask.

"Of course I think you're weird," Oscar insisted, with a slight smile. "I'm weird as well. Why do you think I'm in here at this moment?" His small smile grew into a wide grin, "after all, I have a girlfriend who, in my opinion, is every bit as drop-dead gorgeous as yours."

Ron couldn't help but chuckle. Ron thought that Kim was the hottest girl on the planet and Oscar thought that Cindy was the hottest girl on the planet. Like Oscar said, they were both correct. Ron took a moment to study his friend. While Ron had become the Ultimate Monkey Master, he had to admit that Oscar looked much more simian than he did. The other boy was perhaps a half-inch taller than him, and somewhat broader. What really stuck out about Oscar, however, was his arm length. Oscar Williamsen had an orangutan's build. When he stood in a relaxed pose, his hands hung down almost to his knees.

"Anyway," the other boy continued. "This goodbye doesn't have to be permanent. We're both going to college in state. We can come back and work out with the team, over the winter semester break."

"That's true," Ron mused. He remembered, fondly, the squad's last workouts before the winter break. Dave, who was now in a collegiate wrestling program, was home for his semester break. He had worked out with the team and had checked up on everyone, particularly Ron.

"Of course," Ron pointed out. "You'll show me up big time. I don't think Upperton U even has a wrestling program, so there's no way that I'm going to be able to get in much mat time."

"Ah, you'll stay in shape," Oscar brushed it off. "The word is that Upperton wants to challenge Montana in Division 1AA and they're hoping you'll run them into contention. Football will keep you in condition and coming back to work out with the squad will be a good way to get back together. For now, you might want to head out of here and look up your girlfriend. It wasn't really nice of you to leave Kim facing the reporters on her own."

"Actually, I was doing her a favor," Ron told him. "Most of the serious type of reporters had already asked their questions. The ones that were left were from the gossip magazines and shows. The more I stay around them, the angrier KP gets."

"I'm not following that one."

"Okay, a lot of the reporters for the more reputable shows ask KP things like where is she going to go for her secondary education, what's she going to major in, what she wants to do after college, those sort of things. They also want to know if we're going to keep doing missions into college."

"That sounds reasonable," Oscar nodded. "They're reporters, after all. They need things to report."

"When I'm with her and those reporters are talking to her, everything's badical," Ron continued. "They want to know about me, as well and that always makes Kim happy. They also want answers to their questions, and that's something Kim and I can handle. The gossip crowd, on the other hand, doesn't work that way."

"I've never really gotten into those shows," Oscar admitted. "Mainly because I'm usually to busy to watch them. I've also never really much cared for those types of magazines, but I don't see why they would make Kim that mad. I mean, Cindy absolutely hates the rags but what's the harm from a magazine that dedicates most of its content to pictures of girls, who have less body fat than I do?"

"It's not the pictures of the girls that bother Kim," Ron chuckled. "It's the fact that these reporters aren't very interested in what Kim considers important. They don't want to know about how we took down the latest bad guy or how we rescued someone; they want to know about her cosmetics and hair care products. When they ask her about her future plans, it's never about her choice about colleges or the degree she wants to pursue; but her romantic life."

"They still can't grasp the fact that her romantic life consists of you?" Oscar asked.

"I don't think that they want to," Ron explained, with a frown. "Let's face it, I'm not what you can call a golden boy and lots of those reporters want to be the one to break the news that she's dropped me and taken up with some celebrity or social powerhouse, forming the newest celebrity power couple. They like to tell her about the guys that have expressed interest in her, hoping that she'll make some remark that they can interpret as her being interested right back. I've learned that if I stick around, they get more pointed, trying to get a reaction out of her, or me."

"She doesn't like them putting you down in front of her?" Oscar prompted.

"Yea, and most of them interpret her temper as denial. The more forceful she is when she tells them that she's with me, the more they say that she's compensating for the fact that she really isn't all that interested in me."

"You don't seem to be all that upset about it anymore," the wrestling champion noted.

"I'm not," Ron told him, with complete confidence. "I know I'm not the cutest, the smartest or the buffest…"

"Is that even a word?"

"I'll use it even if it isn't. I don't see any of the English teachers around. Anyway, KP and I are an item and if she ever wants to call it off, she'll just tell me." Ron frowned again.

"You think she's going to call it off?" Oscar asked, catching Ron's expression.

"No. But I'm worried that she's going too much the other way," Ron answered. "I mean, I want to be close to KP for the rest of my life but I have to wonder if she's selling herself short by going to Upperton U to stay with me."

"She's already informed you that she isn't, hasn't she?" Oscar's question was almost as much comment as question.

"Ooooh yea," Ron grimaced, remembering the volume Kim used when Ron had questioned her choice.

"Let me give you another perspective," Oscar offered. "I'm not saying that Kim couldn't have gotten into several, more prestigious universities. Now, Upperton's law program isn't anything to sneeze at, so it isn't like she's slumming. Now, there's more to secondary education than just the academics. She'll be able to continue her cheerleading and some of her volunteer activities. Now, we add you to the mix. She's comfortable and relaxed when you're around, that will enhance her education. I'm willing to bet that she'll learn more, at Upperton _with_ you, than she would at Oxford _without_ you."

"I didn't think that future engineers were such philosophers," Ron grinned.

"We all have our moments of weakness," Oscar grinned back. "But we have a couple of pretty girls waiting for us and I'm willing to bet that Kim's finished with the reporters. Let's just say our good-byes and be on our way."

"Okay," Ron agreed. He stepped away from the wall, turned back to look into the Pit again and stood straight, as if he was giving a presentation in one of Barkin's classes. "Thank you, Pit," he said. "Thank you for watching me drive myself to collapse day after day. Thank you for the crooked nose and the pulled muscles that I never knew I had. Thank you for making me laugh at the idea of a 48 hour fast."

Now, Ron's voice dropped in volume, showing true gratitude rather than sarcastic humor. "And thank you for showing me that I could make something of myself if I worked at it. Thanks for the friends I made both on this team and among my competitors. Thanks for the memories." Ron stepped away from the door, to be replaced by Oscar.

"Thanks for two good years," the other boy said. "Thanks for helping me fit in at the new school. Here's hoping that I'll be able to come back here ten years from now and know that theses past two years weren't the team's glory years; they were the beginning of something special. Here's hoping I can come back someday and mold the next generation."

"Have we been weird enough for one day?" Ron asked his friend.

"It's impossible to fit too much weirdness into a day," Oscar informed him. "But I think I got most of it out of my system. Why don't we look up our girlfriends and our folks? I'm sure there's going to be lots of celebrations taking place."

The two young men walked through the gym and out to the stadium, where they were soon mingling with friends and family.

* * *

Green eyes opened to greet the late afternoon sun streaming in through the bedroom window. Shego kicked the light sheet off of her, sat up and stretched, before reaching behind her to pat the other side of the bed. It was empty, as usual. This prompted the mercenary to smile, not because she enjoyed waking up alone but because it meant that Monty was already up and busy.

Shego threw on an oversized shirt and made her way to the kitchen, where a full pot of coffee was waiting for her. She could never fault Monty's manners; he was always considerate and organized. She prepared a cup of coffee and set about fixing breakfast for herself. Breakfast in the afternoon was one of the perks that came with being a smuggler. Since she and Monty did most of their 'work' at night, they tended to wake up late in the afternoon and go to bed shortly after sunrise. This still gave them plenty of time to devote to their other activities. For Shego, this meant intense physical workouts and martial arts training. For Montgomery, it meant illicit archeology.

The green-hued supervillain considered her current situation while she ate breakfast. The few weeks that had passed, since the big showdown on the island, had been good for her and Monty. Shego's enhanced healing had quickly gotten her back on her feet and back to work. Shego was an enforcer without peer, able to keep both the band's employees and rivals in line. Monty, for his part, turned out to have incredible organizational skills. Shego always had to laugh when she considered this; Monty's teachers and tutors had prepared him to manage his English estate. Those same educators would probably be highly shocked to learn what he was managing now. Still, the skills proved most beneficial. The old man running the smuggling band believed in paying his valuable underlings well, and Shego and Monty had become very valuable.

Shego put her breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and wandered outside to check on her lover. With their increased income, the couple had started to stock their home with more luxuries. They could have afforded more but they knew better than to flaunt their wealth. While they could have afforded a pair of sports cars, they preferred to share an SUV. While they could have sold their small house and moved into a small mansion, they preferred to simply fix up the small dwelling with a few luxuries like central air conditioning. Their frugal living not only kept their profile low; it allowed them to build up a couple of Swiss Bank accounts. Both Monty and Shego knew that the criminal's life would compel them, at some point, to flee for their lives. When that day came, they would be able to draw upon the wealth they were now accumulating.

Still, even with their thriftiness, they had managed to build an enjoyable life. Their property was on Huehuetenango's outskirts, far enough out of town to avoid truly crowded conditions but close enough to take advantage of the city's services. There were a few neighbors, most of whom worked for the same smuggling band as Shego and Monty. Because of this, there was a welcome lack of questions.

Shego stepped out of the house and made her way towards Monty's work shed. She shuddered as she walked across a plank bridge, over a small stream. Upon their return from the Pacific, Monty must have had some pleasant memories involving Amy's ranch back in Wyoming. The rogue archaeologist had spent a full week building a dam across the stream, then lining the resulting pond's bottom with gravel. The result had been a swimming hole very similar to the one he had produced up north.

The very next morning, after leaving the smuggling band but before dawn, the two decided to indulge in a little 'tension relief', much like they had in the Wyoming creek. The warm, tropical water had felt heavenly and the gravel bottom had been wonderfully clean. The two had skinny-dipped for just over an hour, before the dawn's first glimmer prompted them to take their activities indoors…

Where they had promptly freaked out when they discovered all of the leaches clinging to their bodies. The term squeamish usually didn't apply to Shego, but that little incident had her making sounds that would have put an air-raid siren to shame. It was truly fortunate that the few neighbors in the area were aggressively non-curious. She had almost been angry enough to beat Monty to a pulp, her rage focused on the nearest target (other than the leaches, she had taken great delight in incinerating the loathsome creatures.) If strangers had seen her, butt-naked and in hysterics, she would have probably maimed them.

Crossing the bridge, she came to the conclusion that she needed a little work on her temper. Back when she worked for Drakken, her rather…okay, her _**extremely**_ volatile temper had been an asset. Dr. D gave the orders and she made sure that everyone jumped to obey them. Since none of the henchmen knew when the 'green, psychotic attack-bitch,' (a term she actually enjoyed) would go postal over a minor infraction, they all made sure to get their jobs done. As for her other…associates, they were only temporary dalliances and she had never cared if she scared one of them off. They did what they were supposed to do and that had been enough for Shego. Now, things were different.

On the professional side of things, both she and Monty were assuming significant responsibilities within the smugglers' organization. As such, she had to think about maintaining capable employees. Flying off the handle for trivial reasons wasn't a good way to do that. Sure, she could still use her temper as a motivational tool, but she had to know _when_ to blow up as well as _how_ to blow up. As for the personal side…

She didn't want to drive Monty away. In her honest opinion, she would probably do just that if she ever adopted some sort of 'patient good girl' attitude, but she had to admit that the random temper tantrums would probably send him packing, eventually, if she didn't get a grip on them. The leach incident hadn't really been his fault; he had been caught just as much by surprise as she had been. She hadn't thought about any unpleasant residents in the stream, so she really couldn't blame him for not thinking that far ahead. Again, she would have to learn when to blow up, and to what degree.

The sound of children's voices interrupted her musings, as she approached the work shed. This was another thing about Monty that caught her by surprise. While he could, at times, be as sarcastic and short-tempered as she was, he had almost limitless patience when archeology was concerned. When several of the neighborhood children started bringing him old artifacts, instead of chasing them off, he explained what the artifacts were called and how the ancient people used them. When some of the kids showed an interest in the ancient peoples, their own ancestors, Monty showed them the proper way to excavate sites and restore the artifacts. What was more, he didn't swindle the kids. When the children wanted to sell what they found, Monty only kept a twenty-percent cut for himself.

Shego shook her head slightly, Monty made a killing on the high-profile artifacts the adults brought in but he seemed to be trying to instill an honest passion for the plain tools and implements the kids found. Shego reached the door and sure enough, four kids were in the shed with Monty. She watched him scrape dirt away from a piece of stone, explaining his technique to the kids, before putting the stone on the table.

"Congratulations," he addressed one of the kids. "It appears that you found an axe blade. This isn't a weapon, it was a tool."

The kid looked somewhat disappointed by this but Monty continued quickly, "although tools aren't as exciting to find as weapons, they teach us more about the people who made them. For instance, we can see that the blade had a great deal of wear. Clearly, whoever made this tool used it a very great deal. This isn't the sort of artifact that a private collector will pay a great deal of money to display in his home, but a museum will pay a reasonable fee, if you want to sell it."

The boy nodded, enthusiastically.

"Okay, did you write down the day you found this, as well as sketch out a map, like we talked about earlier?" Monty asked. The boy handed him a piece of paper.

"Very good," Monty nodded, after a quick examination. He quickly labeled the piece of stone and filed the paper the boy had handed him. "I'll make some inquiries and let you know what I find out." The boy absolutely beamed.

Shego stepped back from the door, not wanting to disturb this moment. She had no interest in archeology, but she didn't begrudge Monty, or the kids, their enjoyment. She didn't know why the kids loved finding old junk as much as they did and she didn't know why Monty enjoyed teaching them about it. Maybe it was the fact that only children could pronounce some of the terms he used.

She honestly liked the life that she and Monty had forged for themselves and she looked forward to an even better life in the years to come. The only problem was that somehow, whenever she watched Fiske sharing his wisdom and passion with the kids, she felt that there was something missing in her life.

* * *

_Author's notes:_

_Since you're reading this, I'm assuming that you've decided to read this, my latest offering. Thank you very much. I would like to offer my fondest thanks to Joe Stoppinghem, for taking time away from his own writing efforts to beta for me. _

_Until my next update, best wishes;_

_Daccu65_


	2. The new sitch

Chapter Two: The New Sitch.

The elevator doors slid open, allowing Dr. Drakken to step out onto Henchco's office level. He had made a few changes since taking over the operation, several weeks ago. The first and most noticeable change had been to turn the company upside down. Jack Hench had maintained his office on the top floor, giving him a panoramic view of the city outside. Drakken wondered if Jack had appreciated this view when Amy (Drakken refused to think of her as Warmonga) threw him out of one of the windows.

Drew Lipsky had long ago given up trying to understand his own mind. For some reason, he had always felt most comfortable underground. Perhaps it was because so many of his inventions were so noisy, in an electromagnetic sense, and he needed the shielding the ground provided to keep his activities secret. Perhaps it was because he lived in a world where heroes, law enforcement, and villainous rivals could come swooping in from the sky. While enemies could also tunnel their way in, it took considerably more effort and generated a lot of noise. For whatever reason, since he was now in charge of this organization, he ordered all of the offices and conference rooms moved to the complex's second lowest level. The only thing lower was a combination mechanical and utility level.

"Good morning, Mr. Lipsky," his personal office assistant (Drakken hated the term secretary) greeted him.

"Good morning, Hank," Drakken returned the greeting. These days, Drakken went by his birth name, at least professionally. Very few people knew the blue-skinned, would be world conqueror's real name. While Hank Perkins was one of these people, the overly enthusiastic administrator knew enough to maintain the deception. "What's on the docket for this morning?"

"Well sir, you have the division heads' meeting in two hours. I have the income summaries right here." The young man handed Drakken an envelope. Drew gave the contents a cursory scan while Hank continued his report.

"You should be getting a call from your superior, at any time," Hank went on. "I forwarded these reports to her as soon as I compiled them. She's probably going to want to review them with you."

"Very good, Hank," Drakken saw that the income figures were still below what he expected, but given the fact that the world had just shrugged off a major invasion and most supervillains were either in hiding or incarcerated, he found the figures. Throw in the fact that he had just managed to reorganize a very chaotic Henchco and Dr. Director would be satisfied, as well.

"I'll hold all but emergency calls," Hank assured his boss, as Drakken walked into his office.

"Thanks, Hank," Drakken murmured, hitting his head on the doorframe because he was paying more attention to the report than his locomotion. Rubbing his forehead, Drakken sat at his desk and delved deeper into the report, going into the details behind the summary.

As he had suspected, equipment sales to villains and criminal organizations were at a distressingly low level. With the world's economies in turmoil, not to mention most of the more flamboyant criminals in prison, nobody wanted to buy a luxury submarine with leather seats, a DVD player and a built-in cappuccino machine. Nobody was in the market for a stealth hoverjet with high-gloss flame detailing and fuzzy pink dice hanging from the rearview mirror.

His personnel division was also generating disappointing results. With so many of the larger, criminal masterminds out of commission, there wasn't much demand for relatively unskilled henchmen. Drakken realized that he had employed about fifty henchmen in his Caribbean lair and guessed that Dementor must have employed a similar number, at each of his lairs. Drakken hoped that some of his former colleagues would set up some low-skill, high-labor enterprises soon.

His contracting division, on the other hand, was doing extremely well and gave him hope that the unskilled personnel situation was nearing its end. While Dementor, The Mathter, and Aviarius remained in prison, several other villains seemed to want to move into the high profile bracket. While the clients weren't using names, Drakken was reasonably certain that he recognized Falsetto Jones, Killigan and the Seniors, by stipulations on the contracts. Since they were building lairs, it made sense that they would have to hire henchmen to staff the lairs in the near future.

If he was pleased with the contracting division, the specialized personnel division left him absolutely giddy. Corporate espionage was at an all time high, with the world scrambling to rebuild after the Lowardian attack and governments seeking defenses against a similar incident. Not only had Drakken managed to employ all of his 'information acquisition specialists', he had been forced to lure a couple of elderly, former specialists out of retirement, just to train more operatives.

The office phone interrupted his musings.

"What is it, Hank?" Drakken asked.

"Your superior, on line one," the voice gushed.

"Put it on the secure video screen,"

"Done, sir," Hank's voice had barely faded when Dr. Director's stoic visage dominated one wall.

"Well, Drew," the woman's voice didn't have any readable emotion. "What's your opinion on the latest financial reports?"

"I'm disappointed with the overall income," Drew reported honestly. "But I don't think that we can expect a great deal better with circumstances the way they are. I'm still just getting the company on line, much less dealing with the villain situation."

"What do you intend to do, in broad terms?" She asked.

"I intend to keep up the marketing blitz," Drew insisted. "As you can see by the contracting reports, we have villains and organizations moving into the niches my former contemporaries and I once held. If we can gain their loyalty early, we'll retain it throughout their careers."

"I concur," Betty director gave a very slight nod.

"I have to wonder, though," Drew broached a subject that had been confusing him. "The building standards you set for Henchco's contracting division are very…excessive. They really increase building costs at a time when we're trying to gain customer patronage. When I was in the game, so to speak, I knew that I would see higher construction expenses than a legitimate business, but I didn't realize that I would have to pay for such extras."

"What do you mean, Drew?" Did Drakken detect a touch of humor in her expression?

"I mean the building designs and the systems inside the buildings!" He insisted. "I never really thought about my lairs' air handling systems, but I've found out that no building codes in the world require reinforced steel ductwork, like your standards require. In addition, the ducts are much larger than they need to be. Add to that, your standards call for much larger below-floor and above-ceiling plenum spaces, as well as drop-in ceilings much stronger than any building codes require."

"Why do you think we require this, Drew?" Drakken could definitely see the ghost of a smile on the woman's face.

"At first, I thought that you were running up the costs," Drakken admitted. "Then I realized that if you were simply trying to get more money, you wouldn't actually overbuild the systems, you would just charge more and save the additional material expenses."

"What other reasons can you think of for having oversized, reinforced airways?" Dr. Director now sported a broad grin.

"I don't know!" Drew snapped. "It's almost like…like you're making me build pathways for Possible and her sidekick to sneak in…to…the…" Drakken's eyes suddenly flew wide. "Do you mean to tell me that whenever I hired Henchco to remodel my lair, I was installing access routes for Global Justice's agents?"

"Exactly," Dr. Director informed him. "And that's why Henchco's contracting division will continue to build to the established standards. We estimate that Hencho performs sixty percent of all lair remodeling, for major villains. While we insist that you maintain confidentiality with your clients, every time you work for them, you are installing the potential infiltration gaps that will bring them down. It's a fine line between trust and betrayal that we count on you to maintain."

"That would explain the electrical conduits," Drakken muttered.

"What's that, Drew?"

"The electrical conduits," Drew repeated, louder this time. "Henchco's building standards call for a minimum of two-inch conduit. One of the electricians I hired says that even the US Defense Department allows conduit as small as three-quarter inch. I'm willing to bet that two-inch conduit is large enough to provide access for some sort of Global Justice probes."

"Robot probes and naked mole rats," Dr. Director agreed, sporting a satisfied smirk. "You'll find similar…over-engineering…traits throughout your contracting division. Plumbers, bricklayers, carpenters, cabinetmakers and carpet layers all wind up providing us with the ability to either break in or gain other intelligence."

"I'll bet that my personnel division works the same way!" Drakken exclaimed, experiencing another moment of epiphany. "While who hires my personnel is confidential, the employees' skills are not."

"Very good, Drew," Dr. Director complimented him. "And that's part of the fine line between loyalty and betrayal. While we don't know which villain is hiring which henchman, by analyzing skill requests and accident reports, we are able to decipher what the villain community is up to. Figuring out what to investigate is our job; your job is to help us figure out what we're looking for and when we need to look. If you give us any additional information, it will risk blowing Henchco's cover. That said, let's go over your business plans; I don't want that hanging over our head during game night, tomorrow. It's Monopoly night, if my memory is correct."

"And you are so going down this time!" Drakken declared. "Okay, with construction nearing an all-time high but henchman employment still below average, I'm planing on employing some of the henchmen as unskilled laborers. This will not only alleviate both my shortage of contract workers and my excess of henchmen; it will provide some cross training. Not all of the henchmen have the ruthless streak needed to make a long term living in that field, helping them learn a trade will expand their horizons."

"Not bad, what else?"

"On the appliance side, I've shifted the research and construction emphasis to corporate espionage gizmos. Since we have a market, I might as well tap it." Drakken heaved a heavy sigh. While he was perfectly capable of building the data extractors and covert, communication devices he had described, he didn't enjoy it a great deal. His passion lay in the large, complex machines. He loved to build weather control machines, super-lasers and hyper-sized power sources. Still, he couldn't complain about his lot in life.

"It seems you have a solid grip on the organization," Dr. Director approved. "Do you have anything for me?"

"I know I've asked this before," Drakken asked, hesitantly. "But is there anything I can do to help…"

"Drew, I've already told you that you can help Ed best by keeping away from him," Dr. Director firmly told her underling. "Keep in mind that you're officially a missing, convicted criminal and Edward is a parolee. If you do anything for him, and anyone finds out, it's going to put him back behind bars."

"I understand, but I can't help but think that he wound up with a raw deal after all of this."

"He did, to a certain extent," the head of Global Justice admitted. "However, he's coming out of this in better shape than he went in. Since he was abducted and coerced to help construct the walkers, and he proved instrumental in taking them down, the Department of Corrections is planning on taking a great deal of time off of his parole."

"I know, but what does he do after he gets out of prison?" Drew insisted. "The only legitimate job he's ever held, he lost because he refused to cut his mullet. He isn't exactly wired to be a productive member of society."

"You'd be surprised,' Dr. Director smirked at him. "He has plans to open a repair shop, followed by opening a demolition derby. While he won't show up on the Forbes' 500 list, he'll be able to make a comfortable living and keep out of trouble, if he chooses to do so. However, if he were to hear that you were building some sort of spy-spider robot for Falsetto Jones, and you were having trouble with the suspension system, what would he do?"

"He'd build the system for me," Drakken answered. "Both for the challenge and out of loyalty."

"And he'd get in trouble, if any law enforcement agency found out," Dr. Director concluded. "I hate to say this, Drew, but right now, you're the biggest danger to his future."

"I never thought I'd see the day that Eddie was a more respectable citizen than me," Drakken admitted, with a grin.

* * *

The wind tore at her hair, making what extended below her helmet stream out behind her. Her mane was going to be a tattered mess, but she didn't care. Team Possible was officially on vacation! Kim wrapped her arms around Ron's torso and watched the miles slip by.

The two teens were heading southwest, looking for warm weather and a sandy beach. They had reservations at a small hotel, in a small town north of San Diego, for tomorrow night. The minimal luggage they had with them was stowed in the bike's saddlebags, or lashed behind the backrest. Since few reporters paid much attention to Ron, nobody seemed to recognize his bike. This, combined with the fact that Kim and Ron were wearing tinted face-shields, gave them a wonderful anonymity. Sure, someone might recognize them when they stopped for lunch or made some of the other necessary 'pit stops' but Kim didn't care. For the first time since she started her web site, she and Ron were free to just enjoy themselves.

Kim smiled behind her darkened shield. She had thought that explaining this to Dr. Director would be hard, especially since the fallout from Loward's takeover attempt was still…well…falling. She had informed the older woman that she wanted to take a week off, with Ron, to just relax. To her surprise, Dr. Director had insisted that they take off more time.

"Various agencies and news organizations are going to be calling on you repeatedly, in the days to come," Dr. Director had told her. "I concur that you must take whatever relaxation and recreation that you can find."

In the end, Kim had to argue with her to limit the vacation to two weeks. Dr. Director wanted them to take off an entire month. Kim had a strong suspicion that, even though she and Ron would be back 'on watch' two weeks from now, they weren't going to be getting calls from any government agencies.

That was fine with her. For now, she was just enjoying the freedom and the company. After they stopped for lunch, and they didn't know where that would be, they would switch off with her driving and Ron riding on the back. Most guys wouldn't consent to such an arrangement but Ron, her Ron, had absolutely no concern about his 'image.' This left Kim free to be the 'Alpha' member of their partnership with no concern about his ego. It also left her free to contemplate which she enjoyed more; wrapping her arms around his torso as he drove, or feeling his arms around her while she did.

"Deep in thought, KP?" Ron's voice sounded in her ears. Wade had tricked out their helmets, providing low power radio frequency communications. Right now, they were on intercom mode. With a touch of a button, they could tie into the Kimmunicator on her belt. Wade could also activate the link, in case of an emergency.

"Just enjoying being away," she answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Your hands tend to wander when you're zoning out," Ron told her. "It's totally badical, but it can be a little distracting."

Kim quickly returned her hands to his waist. While Ron was a capable rider, it required his complete attention. Slight distractions could have major consequences.

"So, what all were you hoping to do on our little vacay?" Kim asked, as much to break the silence as to ask. When they had agreed on their destination, they had agreed to not discuss what each of them wanted to do until they left Middleton. Since their hometown was over two hours behind them, it was time to reveal the surprises.

"Not all that much," Ron admitted. "The main things were swimming and wakeboarding. Beyond that, I wanted to visit the zoo in San Diego and visit a local dance club at least one night. I checked, and there's supposed to be a really good place near the resort. How about you?"

"I gotcha with that one," Kim giggled back. "I decided to throw away the Blue-Fox for this trip. My list is totally blank so I'm pretty much good with whatever you come up with."

"Oh, so it's my fault if you don't enjoy yourself?"

"Not the drama, monkey-boy," she chided him, with a slight poke below his ribs. "You've always been so much about what I want to do that I decided I'd be about what you want to do…just this once."

"I still can't believe that your dad was cool about us going off alone like this," Ron commented.

"No more surprising than your mom," Kim replied. "I think my mom and your dad have been working on them. That, and now that we're eighteen, I think that they've realized that we're adults…kind of." Kim frowned, thinking about the discussion she had with her mother last night.

"You're starting to zone again, KP," Ron pointed out.

"I'll tell you about it later," she replied, quickly. "For now, let's just have fun."

"I'm all about the funage," Ron assured her.

The two teens simply watched the scenery pass by, looking forward to sand, sun and surf.

* * *

Little Jack drove his Porche through the rows of warehouses on Seattle's waterfront, heading for his home base. When he and the rest of The Boyz started pushing black-tar heroin four years ago, he thought it would be some sort of cloak and dagger operation. Instead, it seemed more like the four months he had spent, before then, working at a fast food restaurant; cars showed up at the warehouse, he and the rest of The Boyz unloaded the stuff, paid for it, then sold it to anybody with cash. There were no secret knocks on doors, no late-night meetings heralded by coded headlight flashes, or any of the other Hollywood spy stuff. The cops were so overwhelmed that the slightest efforts to remain discrete meant that other gangs got caught instead of The Boyz.

The only downside that Little Jack could see was the violence. Competition for selling turf was intense and deadly. Fully half of The Boyz who had started out on this adventure were dead and even though many more eager recruits had appeared to swell their ranks, the dead were childhood friends that Little Jack missed terribly. Even the guys he hadn't gotten along with very well had been lifelong acquaintances. He idly wondered if the rivals that The Boyz had gunned down in the process of claiming and defending their turf had left similar memories behind.

Still, the money was more than good. Black tar heroin wasn't something that either sat on the shelf or went out of style. The only argument The Boyz had ever had with their supplier was the quantity; The Boyz always wanted more. With the money came all of the things that money could buy; state of the art security systems for their warehouses and homes, fast, flashy cars, stylish, flashy clothes, exclusive clubs and the flashy young women that came with the lifestyle. Vacations were also part of the mix, Little John was just returning from two weeks spent between Los Angeles and Las Vegas. He would have headed to his house for another day of unwinding but Robbie had called him a few minutes ago and said that he needed Little Jack at the warehouse right away.

Still, the drive into Seattle's less than affluent section had made him a little uneasy. Even before he had left to unwind, competition had arrived in the form of several, new drugs. While whoever was pushing the new stuff hadn't invaded The Boyz' turf, yet, The Boyz hadn't been able to find out where the new stuff was coming from. To be perfectly honest, Little Jack would have been more interested in expanding operations than shooting it out with the new entity but something was…different…about the new competition.

For one thing, most gangsters walked a fine line between anonymity and celebrity. While most prudes and cops couldn't spot the gangsters, other gangsters could spot each other miles away. This new bunch was all but invisible. What was the point of entering this violent, but lucrative, life if you didn't live it up?

Secondly the street people, prostitutes, bums and general crazies had started to vanish at about the time the new stuff had started to appear. Little John really didn't care much about them but they were useful pushers and lookouts. The Boyz actually had to look for people to hold the merchandise, watch for cops and rivals and sell the product. Sure, they only had to look for a few hours, but that was a lot longer than they used to.

The final item bothering Little Jack was the stories he heard about this new force on the street, someone known as Bigfoot. A few of The Boyz' new recruits were formal rivals who had fled the areas where the new stuff was now available. According to them, these drugs were controlled by someone they called Bigfoot. Little Jack had no doubt that the stories were exaggerated, but if they were to be believed, Bigfoot was nine feet tall and always wore some sort of burqa so nobody ever saw his face. They said that Bigfoot had shrugged off gunshot and stab wounds, and had crushed his attackers with single blows. The new recruits, who got the most thankless and dangerous duties, claimed that Bigfoot could move like lightning. They didn't refer to Bigfoot as a him or her; they referred to Bigfoot as a what. While Little Jack wasn't looking forward to meeting up with this frightening legend, he was interested in seeing how close reality came to the stories.

Little Jack drove up to his warehouse and honked his horn. After a few moments, enough time for the guy on watch to check him out on the camera system, a bay door opened. Little Jack drove inside and parked in his spot while the door shut behind him. He stepped out of his car and stretched his 6'3" frame.

"What's goin' on?" He demanded of Creeper, one of the youngest Boyz.

"Robbie an' Smoke are meeting with someone new," the youngster told him. "Somethin' about getting more smack to sell."

Little Jack grunted his approval. If they could get their hands on anything with a kick, they could sell it for a profit. The gangster walked up to the door separating the parking area from the distribution area. Again, he waited for a moment while someone recognized him on the camera and while Creeper stepped away from the door. Creeper hadn't been a Boyz long enough to be allowed past the parking section.

The door opened and Little Jack made his way through the warehouse, where a small swarm of gangsters were packaging black tar heroin, breaking it down from the bulk shipment into sellable doses. This was another thing that he wouldn't have suspected before he got into the business. Back in his younger days, he had imagined people preparing the stuff in dim, dank, dirty basements. The Boyz had figured out pretty early that the stuff got prepared faster in well lit, ventilated and clean rooms. The room Little Jack walked through almost looked like an open office, except it wasn't numbers being crunched. He waved to several of the workers and received friendly gestures in return. Was it his imagination, or did several of the workers seem…nervous?

Shrugging his shoulders, he approached what The Boyz referred to as the office door. Again, he waited a moment or two for the door to open, then stepped inside.

"Okay, we're all here," his friend, Smoke, said from his position at the head of the large table. Just as the room outside looked like an efficient office, this room looked like a modern boardroom. The central table was highly polished wood, the seats were comfortable and the walls were well insulated, blocking the sounds from the activities outside. Little Jack closed the door behind him and took his seat. The other four Boyz around the table: Smoke, Robbie, Frown and Dutch, looked too sad for Little Jack's peace of mind.

"What's going on here?" Little Jack demanded. "Everyone out in the factory was tense and everyone in here looks scared, as well. Did someone make a move on our turf while I was gone?"

"You could say that," a deep voice, not belonging to any of The Boyz, answered him. Little Jack spun towards the voice, to see a giant figure walking in through the 'administrators' secret exit. Only the five, original Boyz knew about this passage that led to an enclosed stairway, down to a tunnel, then to another warehouse. "_On the other hand_," Little Jack corrected himself. "_The five of us plus one know about it."_

"You must be Bigfoot," Little Jack said to the burqa-clad figure. The gangster stood again and crossed his arms. This move brought his hand close to the snub-nosed .38 in his jacket pocket. While other gangsters might prefer the large, intimidating .44s or .45s, he put his stock in the smaller weapon. Little Jack considered a small weapon, which nobody knew about, to be more dangerous than a cannon that everyone could see.

"Some people call me that," the deep voice replied. Did Little Jack detect a hint of a feminine lilt in the voice? It couldn't be, the figure towered over him!

"Okay, since nobody else wants to talk, I'm gonna ask; what the hell are you doing in The Boyz' boardroom?"

"It's not your boardroom anymore," Bigfoot corrected him. "You all work for me now."

That was enough for Little Jack. There was no way that someone was going to just walk right in here and take over what he had spent four years building. He pulled his pistol and shot the towering figure. It wouldn't be the first time that The Boyz had to remove a body from their boardroom.

To Little Jack's shock, Bigfoot seemed to just shrug off the two bullets he managed to pump into him. A giant hand, encased in a glove, lashed out and caught his pistol hand, pointing the weapon towards the ceiling with irresistible strength.

"Don't do that again," Bigfoot snarled at him, starting to squeeze.

Little jack felt bones in his hand break as the pressure increased. Staring in disbelief, the gangster watched the pistol bend, warping under the incredible pressure. Once the pistol was rendered useless, Bigfoot released him to fall, moaning and clutching at his shattered hand, to the floor.

"I'll make this short," Bigfoot rumbled, producing a syringe. The giant seized Little Jack and injected him. "Like the rest of you, Little Jack's body is now incapable of synthesizing certain amino acids. I won't tell you which ones." The giant tucked the syringe away and produced another, which she set on the floor next to Little Jack.

"In order to avoid a very painful death, you must inject a synthesized version of these acids every day. Each of you has a specific malady, so stealing from each other won't do you any good. Now, let's get on to business." The giant stalked to the head of the table. Smoke scrambled out of the way.

"The first thing all of you are wondering, is what do you need to do in order to get your daily dose of life. This answer is simple. You sell the drugs I deliver and I'll send one of my…employees…each day to deliver your medicine and pick up the money from your sales. If you roll my employee or hold out on me, I'll simply quit producing your medicine. It's that simple."

"You might be concerned about your junkies' desire to purchase this product," Bigfoot continued. "Don't be. First of all, it won't do you any good and secondly, if they liked black tar heroin, they'll love the stuff I supply." The giant now produced a city map and threw it on the table.

"You're responsible for distribution in this area," Bigfoot informed them. "I don't care how you conduct your internal business. Sell my product, deliver my cash and there won't be any need for unpleasantness or any need for anyone outside of this room to know about our arrangement. If you cheat me, sell another product or muscle into someone else's territory, I'll simply quit producing your medicine. If you want to find out just how rough this will be, just wait twenty-six hours before injecting your medicine. I'd say wait twenty-seven but you have a very good chance of not surviving and I don't want to go through this more than necessary."

"What if someone moves in on us?" Robbie demanded. "How can we tell the difference between someone outside the family or another of your…slave gangs?"

"There's a very bright boy," a chuckle rumbled from Bigfoot's unseen mouth. "You've figured out that I've come to the same agreement with your formal rivals. It's very simple, if you catch someone else moving into your territory, you'll inform my employee during his next visit. I'll decide whether to let you take care of it or if I need to deal with it myself." The burqa shifted, as Bigfoot stared at each of the assembled gangsters. "This doesn't have to be unpleasant for you. You'll probably make more money than you did by selling heroin. Just do what you do and you won't have any problems."

"Jay-Ray and Squirmy," Little Jack gasped. "They came from one of our rivals! They ran away and told us about you! I didn't see them in the factory, what have you done with them?"

"Another bright boy," Bigfoot commented. "I know the two you're talking about. I didn't have the chance to…medicate them…before they ran away. You weren't here earlier, when I sent them to my own facility. Very shortly, they'll be serving me in their own way."

"You killed them, didn't you?" Little Jack demanded.

"Actually no," Bigfoot's grating chuckle froze everyone's blood. "I'm making good use of them. Trust me, there are worse fates than death. When you go to bed tonight, say a prayer and beg to never find out just how they're serving me."

"My employee will arrive in a large van tomorrow at two-thirty," Bigfoot concluded, turning and stalking towards the secret exit. "He'll tell you all about the product you'll be selling and give you your second doses of your medicine. I suggest you limit your questions to the product. I don't like people being curious about me. Remember that I don't have to actually do anything to take any of you out, I just have to quit making your medicine. Good day, gentlemen."

The assembled Boyz stared at the door long after the giant had departed.

"What do we do now?" Little Jack, squirming and grimacing from his injury, asked the room.

"We get you to a doctor," Robbie told him. "We'll say that I managed to run over your hand. They should believe it."

"No," Little Jack insisted. "What do we do about Bigfoot and the medicine?"

"I guess we start selling whatever he delivers."

* * *

A/N: Again, my thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for his invaluable beta services. Thanks for reading everyone.

Until my next update, best wishes;

daccu65


	3. Decisions

Chapter 3: Decisions

"I never thought that a vacation could be more exhausting than a mission," Ron said, holding the door to their room for Kim.

"So worth it though," she countered, staggering into the room and flopping down on one of the beds.

The two teens had just completed their first 'official' vacation day. They had arrived at the resort, tired from the road, last night. Both were up early, finding their way to the nearby beach for a full day of swimming, wakeboarding and general lounging around. Just after sundown, they had found their way to the dance club Ron had read about, where they had indulged in a fine meal, followed by lively salsa dancing. Now, exhausted beyond measure, they were staggering back into their room, intent on resting up for round two tomorrow.

"Do you want first crack at the shower?" Ron asked, slumping down on the other bed. He knew that he wanted to rinse off the sweat before he crawled into bed and he was pretty sure that Kim would want to, as well.

"Care to join me?" Kim replied. Ron looked up to respond to the joke when he caught her eyes.

Kim wasn't joking.

"I…er…um…" Ron stammered, unsure of what to say. Sure he would love to share a shower but…was it right? What would it lead to? What did Kim expect it to lead to? For one of the few times in his life, Ron Stoppable was uncomfortable and uncertain around his BFPF.

"Ron?" Kim murmured, sitting next to him and resting a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"It's…I…well…" Ron gave up trying to explain and just shrugged his shoulders, looking helplessly at Kim.

"Is it something with you?" She asked him. Then, with a hint of fear, "or something with me?"

"It isn't that," Ron told her. "It's just…I don't really know what I'm doing here. I mean, I'd love to share a shower with you but…"

"You don't know what will happen during or after?" Kim prompted. Ron nodded.

"I know that we're tired, but I think we need to talk about this," Kim told him. Ron could only nod again.

"My mother and I had a long talk the night before we left," Kim told him. "Do you know what we discussed?" Ron shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"Mom told me that…when the time came for us to become intimate…I would sort of have to lead you into it."

"What?" Ron squeaked. "You mean that your mom told you to…to seduce me?"

"No," Kim chuckled. "Although I jumped to the same conclusion, in about the same tone of voice." The two shared a strained giggle. "She told me that I was going to have to talk this over with you. I see she was right."

Kim sat cross-legged on the bed and tugged on Ron's hand, prompting him to do the same. The two sat facing each other, their knees touching and their fingers interlaced. Kim took a deep breath.

"I'm going to start out by repeating what mom told me," she started. "And I guess we can sort of take it from there. First, she told me how proud she was about the way we handled ourselves; about how we didn't act like a couple of hormone-crazed beasts…at least not in public." The two shared another strained smile.

"Then she told me that we were becoming adults and we were going to have to deal with the fact that we were developing very real, and adult, desires for each other. I know I'm feeling them towards you." Kim looked at him very shyly, "are you feeling them towards me?"

"You have no_ooo_ idea how much," Ron assured her.

"You'd be surprised," Kim giggled, then her expression became serious again. "She told me that we were going to have to come grips with what we wanted…physically…out of our relationship."

"KP, I…I don't really know. I mean, you can, and do, put my hormones into overdrive but I don't think I want us to be like that."

"Hey, I understand," Kim told him, squeezing his hand. "I don't really know how I want this to go, either. I do know that I'm…interested…in kind of exploring these feelings I have for you."

"KP, I'm so into wanting to do the explorage that I have trouble concentrating at times," Ron confessed. "I just don't want to do something stupid and make you mad at me."

"Ron, when you gave me this ring, you told me that you hoped we could stay together long enough to marry. When I accepted it, I told you that I agreed with you. By wearing it, I'm telling you that I still feel that way. Do you?"

"Of course."

"You realize that when we get married, and probably before that, we're going to include…intimacy…in our relationship."

"I'm looking forward to it," Ron answered, having trouble meeting her eyes while speaking.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," she insisted. "Even though I'm blushing like mad myself. Ron, even after we marry, do you think that the only time we're going to…well, you know…is when we want to have children?"

"I've never thought that much about it," Ron admitted. "The whole idea of a girl wanting to…you know…with me seems just so impossible. To be perfectly honest, I've known that you're a totally gorgeous girl for a long time but still thinking of you in those ways seems…wrong somehow."

"Why, Ron?" She asked. There was no pleading or accusation in her voice, simply a desire to understand why he felt the way he did.

"I really can't describe it," he replied.

"Try, for me."

"Okay, here goes. We've been friends for a long time and I'm closer to you than I am to my own parents. I love you and I love being with you. Somehow, the thought of trying to…you know…with you just seems like I'd be…betraying…that."

"Okay, mom said you might feel that way," Kim smiled at his look of shock. "Ron, did it ever occur to you that I'd want to, as well? When the time comes, it's not going to be you manipulating me or…imposing on me. It's going to be a decision we reach together." She now smiled ruefully, "to be honest, I don't want to manipulate you, either. In a way, I kind of hope you make the first move, so I know I'm not, you know, seducing you."

"KP, I don't know when the right time is going to be, but I'm pretty sure it isn't right now. I mean, we're over eighteen and we're out of high school, but we have a long way to go before we're really adults. Okay, maybe we're ready to be _more_ adult but I don't think we're ready to be _completely _adult, if you know what I mean."

"Mom told me that you were probably just as nervous as I am," Kim gave him a shy smile. "And she said that that was why we had to talk about things. So that neither of us would make the other one uncomfortable."

"Maybe that's what has me so scared," Ron murmured. "We're really getting into new things. I mean, we sleep in the same bed but we've done that when we were kids and we've crashed together coming back from missions so many times that we were comfortable doing it."

"That gives me an idea!" Kim declared. She hopped off the bed and ducked into the bathroom, leaving a very confused Ron staring at the door. Minutes later Kim, now clad in her swimsuit, stepped back into the room.

"Here," she said, tossing Ron's trunks to him. "I'll start the shower and you can join me in a few minutes. Is this okay with you?"

"Yeah," Ron said.

"It's okay with me as well," Kim replied, slipping back into the bathroom.

Ron changed and waited for a few minutes before joining Kim under the warm, running water. The first order of business was to get clean. They washed each other's backs and Ron helped Kim with her long hair. Afterwards, they dried off and Ron returned to the bedroom to change into his pajamas while Kim did the same in the bathroom. Minutes later, the teens curled up together in one of the beds.

"Did you enjoy that?" Kim asked, resting her head on Ron's chest.

"Very much," Ron admitted. "You?"

"I didn't realize it was so handy to have someone help me with my hair," she giggled. "Seriously though, when I offered to share the shower, I didn't really know if I wanted us to wind up having…" she snorted a chuckle. "Okay, that was a lie. I really want to make love to you but I don't know if it's right, if you can understand what I'm saying."

"I think I do," Ron held her close. "For all that we've known each other almost all of our lives, we've only been dating for a little over a year and we're still very young. It might not be the right time just now."

"I think that mom gave me some great advice," Kim declared. "We need to be able to talk to each other about this. It's a little embarrassing, but you are so worth it."

"So are you, KP," Ron whispered, his voice starting to slur a little with his exhaustion. "But right now, the Ronster is going to need his sleep if he's going to be ready to spend a day at the zoo tomorrow."

"I know the feeling," Kim yawned. "Now, since I forgot to pack Pandaroo, you'll just have to do."

Minutes later, two smiling teens were sleeping peacefully, dreaming about a future together.

* * *

As Kim and Ron were drifting off, contemplating what was to come, an elderly man, living on a Mediterranean Island, looked out of his bedroom window at the morning sun.

"_It would have been much more symbolic to look at a setting sun_," Senior Senior Senior thought. "_But the world is not perfect. No matter, I still have some sunsets to contemplate. Now, it is time to deal with such matters left for me to resolve._"

The old man used his cane to press a button on his inter-lair communication system. Moments later, the central computer located his son and established a communications channel. Very bad music assaulted the elderly villain's ears as he realized that his son was in the studio, practicing his music. Still, as bad as the music sounded, it was a vast improvement over what he had heard the previous week.

"What is it father?" Junior asked with a very pouting voice. "I am practicing my bagpipes in an effort to become an international teen pop sensation."

"I am sorry to interrupt, my son," Senior apologized. "But I have an urgent matter to discuss with you. Meet me at the side of the pool in a half-hour." The elderly man paused. "I confess that I do not remain current with teenaged music trends, but aren't bagpipes an unusual instrument to use for such music?"

"I am seeking a new sound!" Junior answered, full of enthusiasm, "the new gimmick that will propel me to the heights of popularity!"

"Last week I thought your big idea was using a jackhammer as a percussion instrument."

"It is still a very big idea, papa." Junior assured him. "Last night, while you were on the mainland, myself and one of the musically inclined henchpersons played a duet to test my groundbreaking musical theory."

"I am very impressed," Senior assured his son. "How did your performance work out?"

"To be perfectly honest, not so well," Junior admitted. "The sounds of my bagpipes drove the seagulls away from our shores and they have yet to return. On a happier note, the percussion solo eliminated the troublesome boulder from the Bocce court."

"Very good son, but meet me at the pool, at the time I requested. I must speak to you man-to-man."

"Very well, father."

Senior struggled to his feet and made his way to the pool, leaning on his cane much more than he had ever recalled doing so. One of his ever-present servants helped him sit in a lounge chair and fetched a cool drink for the old man. Soon, the half-hour was up and Junior arrived at the pool.

"Very well father, what is this importantly important item that you want to discus with me?"

"Junior, I do not know how to make this easy upon you. It has to do with my recent trip to the mainland."

"Oh!" Junior gasped. "Has the era of the hot, stylish male singer ended? Has my dream of pop stardom ended before it could truly begin?"

"I confess that I do not know," Senior smiled indulgently at his son. "I regret to inform you that I did not take the time to observe either the music or the teen culture scene. Instead, I visited a doctor. I will not be here much longer, my son."

"Oh, have you decided to purchase that island in the Caribbean, like you were discussing some weeks ago?"

"No Junior, I fear that I will not be making any more major acquisitions, although that island's warm, sunny atmosphere would have provided some welcome variety to our island's warm, sunny atmosphere."

"Then were are you going, and when will you return?" Junior seemed confused.

"Junior, I am dying," the old man told his son. "I journeyed to the mainland to visit a doctor. I have been feeling more fatigued than usual and I wanted to find out why."

"But father," Junior protested. "You have a doctor visit the island every year! Why did you not summon the doctor to the island?"

"This doctor had equipment that could not be transported," Senior told him. "This is not important, my son, what is important is that I have only one half of a year, nine months at the most, left in this world."

"But father, certainly there is something we can do, other doctors perhaps?"

"I am afraid not, my son," Senior's voice was both indulgent and gentle "This doctor gave me a long list of other professionals to consult, but I have no doubts about his findings. I have reached the last of my long life, my son, and it is time to settle my affairs before passing on."

"But father, what is the point of incredible wealth if you cannot use it for incredible things? Even if it is your heart, surely we could find someone and give his or her family vast wealth in return for his heart."

"It isn't just my heart, my son. I am over eighty years old, and my body is breaking down. To be honest I am growing weary. The end is coming and although I do not welcome it, I accept it."

"Father…" Junior sobbed.

"Junior, let us not argue about my passing, neither of us can prevent it. Instead, I require your assistance in making sure that all of my affairs are in order before I leave this world."

"Leave this w…" suddenly, Junior seemed to fully comprehend what his father was telling him. "What will I do without you, father? I need your wise, if misguided direction. I cannot face the world…alone!"

"I know this, my son, and you are the most important thing in my life. I wish to make sure that you are cared for, after I am gone. Once I have assured myself that you will be well looked after, I will be able to tie up any of my other affairs. To do this, we must seek out someone who will care for you and support you, no matter what. Junior, I wish to see you wed before I pass away."

"M-m-married," Junior stammered. "But father, I have had very bad luck with girls! My blue fox rejected me and she who I thought was the love of my life proved incapable of withstanding a simple, romantic gesture."

"What is this?" Senior asked.

"My Christmas present to her drove her insane," Junior explained. "But the point is that every time I give a girl my heart, she leaves me! How can I possibly find my soul mate in a few months when I have not managed to do so for years? I am sorry father, but I do not think that I will be able to comply with your wishes."

"My son, you have already given me a wonderful gift!"

"I have? What is it?"

"One final challenge," Senior explained. "In the short time I have left in this world, I will find you your soul mate! I will need to find a girl that is shallow, who appreciates your movie star looks and can help you manage the vast wealth that I will leave you. If she has at least a little bit of villainy in her, so much the better."

"You will do this for me?" Junior gasped. "Even in the last few months of your life?"

"Of course! It will be a wonderful diversion," Senior declared, returning to his feet. "I will start by contacting Mr. Rotiffle. He seemed well on his way to finding you your soul mate when you met Miss Rockwaller. For that matter, I shall also consider Miss Rockwaller and Miss Possible! One of them may have had a change of heart. Fear not, my son, I will find you your future wife, so that you will not be alone when I leave."

"But father!" Junior protested. "I do not want a wife, no matter how beautiful, shallow or impressed with my wealth, if it means losing you!"

"I am sorry, my son, but losing me is unavoidable," Senior sighed. "So please, indulge your father this last endeavor. Let me look to your happiness one, last time."

Happy to have a task to accomplish, Senior made his way to his technology lair, showing a great deal more spring in his step than he had when he ventured to the pool a few minutes ago. Once seated at the computer terminal, he transferred enough wealth into his 'ready money' account to tempt the programmer. Then he composed a message to Mr. Richard Rotiffle, informing the programming genius that the Seniors wanted to hire his services. Minutes later, the elderly man realized that it was still nighttime at Rotiffle's location. No matter, the genius was sure to be interested in the amount of money Senior Senior Senior was prepared to pay, once he woke up.

* * *

As the elderly man decided to make a list of traits he found desirable in a daughter-in-law, and with which his son would agree, the hyperspace inquiry he had instigated activated an alert program, set in place by one Mr. Wade Lode. In Middleton, Wade's computer activated an alarm, which roused the young genius from his pleasant dreams about solving all of the world's energy needs by using a coronet and a typewriter.

If Kim Possible was ready to leap into action at any time and Ron Stoppable was slightly less ready, Wade Lode was even more ready at any time. After all, someone had to filter Kim's calls and for all of Wade's programming abilities, his software wasn't as good as human judgment. While the hero business woke Kim up frequently, it woke Wade up constantly. Therefore, Wade's brain was fully awake by the time the reached his computer.

"Well Rufus, it looks like the Seniors are going to try to hire Ricky's services again," Wade told the little mole rat, who he was watching while Kim and Ron were on vacation.

"Uh-oh," Rufus commented, after climbing onto Wade's shoulder.

"I won't read the content of the message, but it appears that Senior has prepared a lot of money for transfer and he just returned from one of Europe's most exclusive doctors."

"Hmmm…why?" Rufus squeaked.

"I don't know," Wade confessed. "But the money he's prepared to pay Ricky is roughly the amount Junior paid for the hyper personals search last year. Whoa, now Senior's sending a request to Kim's site. This I _will_ look at!" Wade displayed the request on his screen.

"Hrnk! Sick and wrong," Rufus snorted, once he had read the message. "Kim and Ron, not Junior!"

"No argument here," Wade flinched. "What does it mean, Rufus? Senior visits a doctor, then he frees up a lot of money, even for him. Then he contacts one of the most talented computer programmers in the world. After that, he invites Kim to travel to his island and compete in some sort of 'marry Junior' contest."

"Dunno," Rufus squeaked back.

"Neither do I," Wade admitted. "But I've got to do something. I'm not going to interrupt Kim and Ron's vacation about this, but I think a tip to Global Justice is in order."

Wade hit a few keys, which summed up his findings, then forwarded these findings to Global Justice's website. Since Wade, as a Team Possible member, had a special email address, he was pretty sure the proper people inside the worldwide crime-fighting organization would have it very shortly. Since Wade was a little wound up, he and Rufus played a couple of computer games to relax. Finally, both went back to bed, satisfied that they had done what they could to thwart what had to be another, evil plan.

* * *

Far to the northwest of where Rufus and Wade were drifting off to sleep, a large figure stalked into a hidden, Seattle laboratory. Two technicians, the only people Bigfoot trusted to see the unique, production facilities, greeted their employer. Bigfoot pulled off the burqa, revealing Warmonga's exotic features.

"Report," the giant woman instructed the two technicians.

"All production is normal," the senior of the two reported. "We're meeting our customers' consumption but we're not going to be able to keep up with our expanding market for more than a week. Bottom line up front, we need more production tanks."

"Since we've filled this lab up, we either need to open a new lab or move to a larger one," the other technician concluded.

"Sometimes success can be more difficult to deal with than failure," Warmonga murmured, repeating a lesson her late lover had taught her. "Very well, have our delivery boys include a request when they deliver the medicine and product today. Figure out how much floor space we need."

"How much product do you predict we will need to produce?" The senior technician asked.

"Three times our current production," Warmonga declared. "When we need to exceed this level of production, we'll increase our production again."

"Will three times be anywhere near enough?" The second technician asked. "Our distributors say that they're ready to move into the rest of the U.S., as well as Canada and Central Amer…"

"No!" Warmonga snarled at the man. "We will _NOT_ expand our activities across national borders. We will keep our activities limited to the northwest. I know that we have a much larger, potential market but I have no intention of drawing nationwide attention and I most certainly will not alert Global Justice to my activities. We are making plenty of money and we will make even more. Now, the distributors I convinced to work for me know their areas of this city very well. Get them to work finding us a secure, sizable production space."

"That takes care of our manufacturing space but what about the production tanks?" The senior technician asked.

"I guess it's time to go shopping again," Warmonga told him. "You get the space, and get it within four days. I'll get the vats after that. Now, do you have the deliveries ready?"

Taking the hint, the two technicians went back to their duties, collecting and labeling the drugs and medicines for distribution later that day. Warmonga walked through a door and into her private office. Sitting in her oversized chair, she picked up a telephone and spent several minutes routing her call through several cell services, making the call, at the least, difficult to trace.

"Hello," a tired sounding voice responded to her call.

"Willie," Warmonga greeted the answering voice. "It's Bigfoot. I need another delivery."

"Wha…you need more of these things already? What are you using them for?"

"Willie, Willie, Willie," she chided. "You know I buy from you because you don't ask questions, but you've just asked two in the same breath! Isn't my money good?"

"Yeah, the cash is good so I only have two more questions; how many units and when do you need them?"

"Now those are the questions I like to hear," Warmonga told him. "Four times the size our previous delivery and I need it within the week."

"Whoa, that might be tricky, but I should be able to put it together. Where do you need it."

"I'll let you know when you have it ready to deliver," Warmonga told him. "One more thing, I need an industrial sized, medical incinerator at the same time. Can you do it?"

"Yeah, but that means a full sized truck. We're going to have to conduct the transfer somewhere more…urban…than our usual places."

"We'll work with that after you get the unit, how much will it cost me?"

"I have to check with my own supplier," Willie admitted. "I'll call you in 24 hours. Does that work for you?"

"There's another question I don't mind hearing," Warmonga told him. "Good enough. Go back to sleep, Willie, and dream of the dollars you're about to get."

"Fair enough, I'll talk to you tomorrow." The line went dead.

Warmonga stood up and strode through another door, into her private quarters. As was her habit, she opened up a hidden safe and checked on her most prized possession; a miniature cryogenic storage canister. After assuring herself that the contents were still safely in stasis, she closed the safe and prepared for bed.

She touched the last, fading remnants of the scars she had taken when she seized control of most of Seattle's illicit drug trade. For the former DNAmy, life was a series of challenges and lessons. Most of her internal organs were redundant, meaning that she could withstand incredible punishment, including a bullet's penetrative trauma, before she became incapacitated. This trait, combined with her regenerative abilities, made her a formidable opponent in the criminal underworld.

"You'd be proud, Warrick," she murmured to her late lover. She knew that speaking to the dead wasn't exactly logical, but it was her way of dealing with her loss. "I'm acquiring my resources. Soon, I'll have enough steady income to fund my next stage. The tricky part is going to be maintaining an income that's high enough to fund my activities but low enough to avoid too much attention. Still, I'm working through enough layers that even if some of my distributors are caught, I should be able to avoid suspicion."

"I remember reading a series of science fiction books when I was an undergraduate student," she continued. "While the books were interesting, the movie and the made for TV miniseries were horrid. However, one thing from those books has stuck with me all these years, some of the villains. These villains were an undersized race of humanity, geniuses in genetic sciences that most of the other races despised. These villains called genetics the language of God. How true that statement has turned out to be! If only Shego, Monty, Team Possible and Global Justice could see what I'm doing now! I think that they would have nightmares for the rest of their lives despite having to admire my genius."

The large, green woman lay back in her oversized bed and allowed herself to relax. "It may take years, my love, but soon I'll take my revenge upon Shego, the woman who humiliated me and Ron Stoppable, the man who killed you."

* * *

_A/N:_

_Three chapters down. I'd like to thank everyone who's stuck with me through my earlier tales and on into this one. Big thanks to Joe Stoppinghem, who's taking time away from his own writing to beta for me. If you're waiting for his next work, blame me and not him!_

_Seriously though, I'd like to think that I've improved from the early chapters of Ron Goes to the Mat. The Kimmunity is an incredibly supportive and friendly group to write for. Thanks for reading these bizarre thoughts that I put into writing._

_Until my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	4. Changes in the Sitch

Chapter 4: Changes in the Sitch

"Okay now, keep it level and straight," Shego instructed Monty. The mercenary didn't like being awake this early. Most people wouldn't think that getting up at the crack of noon was a hardship, but most people didn't work nights. Still, she had to admit that Monty had a good idea. While he had been an adventurer for years, he had never learned to pilot aircraft. The two were rectifying that shortcoming at this time.

"Very well, which course do you suggest?" Monty asked.

"Let's head northeast, towards the Belizean and Mexican borders, in fact, I want you to fly to the three-way border." Shego watched as Monty pulled out a chart and plotted his course.

"That's something I never expected," Shego drawled, as her lover altered his course. "I've always took it for granted that everyone in this game can fly an aircraft."

"Oh, who besides yourself and Drew were able to do so?"

"Well, Duff has a blimp, Aviarius has his bird-jet, the Mathter and Dementor had hoverjets and Amy flew into Wyoming from Belize. Not to mention the fact that every Global Justice agent seems to be able to fly their aircraft."

"I have some interesting news for you," Fiske smirked at her. "I performed a few jobs for most of the villains you mentioned. Neither the Mathter nor Amy actually knew how to fly an aircraft. Amy obtained computer-guided aircraft while the Mathter was able to install computer guidance systems into the aircraft he obtained. Dementor is indeed a capable pilot but Duff is not, he's crashed that blasted dirigible more times than I care to count, once into my mansion. As for Global Justice, I suspect that most of them are only able to pilot the computerized agency aircraft."

"Even Junior can fly a helicopter," she teased.

"I prefer it when people don't remind me about skills certain individuals have that I do not," he grumbled. "Chief among these individuals are Junior and Motor Ed."

"Hey, I'm just having some fun."

"I know, but the fact remains that you are the only person I've met that can pilot almost any machine capable of flight."

"You're saying that I'm some sort of unique individual?"

"That's an understatement," Monty insisted. "And I appreciate that you're trying to teach me this skill."

"Hey, if you can teach the neighborhood kids archeology, I can teach my man flying," Shego paused a moment. "You really enjoy it, don't you?"

"Flying?" Monty asked. "I've always enjoyed riding in aircraft, but you know that this is the first time I've actually flown such a machine. I'm enjoying it so far but it's too early to say if I…"

"That's not it," Shego interrupted. "I mean teaching the kids archeology."

"I enjoy the science," Fiske replied. "And I suppose I enjoy passing on my knowledge to those who are interested in it."

"How about other knowledge," Shego pressed. "You know, your organizational skills and the other things you do, would you be interested in teaching kids that?"

"If I have an attentive pupil, it would seem logical," Monty answered. "I'm curious, why are you showing an interest in this?"

Shego took a deep breath. Since when did she feel hesitant about speaking her mind? Since when had she been afraid of a possible answer? It had taken her some time to realize what was bothering her about her current life. Part of the problem was that she didn't put a tremendous amount of faith in the psychology courses she had taken. She understood some of the theories; she was supposed to develop an emotional attachment to a guy who proved both capable of making his way in the world and proved his willingness to stick with her. She had that in Monty, so it was only natural, at least according to some of her former instructors, for her to want to take the relationship to the next level. Of course, Shego had long ago come to the conclusion that the line between a groundbreaking, brilliant, innovative psychologist and a hopeless quack was a very fine line indeed.

The next issue was the first rule of marketing, which said that if you tell someone they can't have something, said person will immediately want it. Shego had known for some time that she couldn't have children and she had come to terms with the fact, especially since her inability to become pregnant had come hand-in-hand with an immunity to all know STDs. When she had begun her mercenary's life, both things had been a big advantage, allowing her to burn off the biological tensions her dangerous lifestyle generated without any consequences. Now, she was beginning to feel that her life was just a little empty.

The final straw was her age. She was still shy of her thirtieth birthday and her age really shouldn't make any difference anyway. Still, if she had been a normal woman, capable of reproduction, it would be something to take into account. The fact was that the hands on Shego's biological clock were just a few years away from flipping her the bird.

So, here she was in a small aircraft, flying over a small Central-American country, with a man she honestly saw herself spending the rest of her life with. A couple weeks ago, she had come to the conclusion that she wanted a baby. She couldn't actually squirt one out herself, but she knew that she wanted to raise a child. Seeing Monty teaching the neighborhood kids had only increased this longing. Okay, so why was she feeling…shy…about talking to the guy about all this?

"Monty, I'm not going to sugar coat this," she told him. "I'd like to have a baby. Now, I know that I can't actually _have_ a baby, but I want to raise one and I want to raise it with you."

"Whoa, Monty, steady and level flight!" She reminded him, grabbing the controls in front of her. Fortunately, the aircraft was a trainer, so Shego was able to take control from the stunned Fiske. "Okay, I take it from your goggle-eyed trout look that you don't want anything to do with it. Fine, forget I said anyth…"

"You misunderstand," Fiske interrupted. "That's not it at all. I was overwhelmed that you looked upon me as an adequate father. Do you honestly want to raise a child?"

"Monty, I thought you'd figure out by now that the only time I lie is when I'm trying to pull something off on a patsy. I don't live with patsies; I scam 'em and move on so yes, I want a child."

"And if you could bear one of your own?" Fiske prompted.

"I told you that it's impossible," Shego growled. "I thought you had better manners than to bring that up, or at least I thought you were smarter than to bring up a sore subject with a woman who can fry your butt."

"Back in Casablanca, Drew informed me that there may be a fairly simple way for you to become pregnant," Fiske informed her. "According to one of the doctors who examined you, in vitro fertilization is very promising."

"Wait, something that simple?" Shego demanded.

"According to the doctors, you're perfectly capable of carrying a child to term, the only problem is that human cells don't do well at your heightened temperatures. One of the doctors theorized that if your egg were fertilized outside your body, the zygote's genetics would be compatible with your higher body temperature. You would then be able to carry the child to term."

"Why didn't Drakken ever tell me?"

"According to him, it was a childish need to hold something over you. He didn't know if you would ever want to become a mother so he told me in case you ever brought up the matter."

"Okay, Drew and I were a little nasty towards each other," Shego chuckled at the memory. "Now, when do we go through with this?"

"You mean, you want to have a child with me?"

"Doy," Shego shook her head, while reaching over to play with his hair. "Who have I been living with for almost a year? Who did I drag out of Wyoming when it all hit the fan? Who dragged me out of that secret lab when Amy handed me my butt? Who did I just ask to adopt with me? Of course I want to have a child with you!"

For a moment, silence reigned in the cockpit.

"Okay, you're giving me the google-eyed trout look again, what gives?" Shego asked, to break the silence.

"Only trying to decide how to proceed," Monty informed her, sporting a blushing, nervous schoolboy look. "Shego, I may be a villain but I have always considered myself honorable, at least in my own way. Under my admittedly inconsistent morality, one simply does not father a child unless a certain offer is forwarded and accepted." Monty was reaching into one of his pockets, leaving Shego to mimic his earlier goggle-eyed trout look.

"Shego," Monty said, pulling his hand out of his pocket to reveal what looked like a green, stone ring. "Will you marry me? Look out! Steady and level flight!" Now Fiske seized his controls as Shego simply stared at him. "…I take it that you find the idea preposterous," Fiske grumbled. "Very well, I'm…"

"No!" Shego gasped. "I mean, no it's not a preposterous suggestion and yes, I'll marry you! You caught me by surprise! I didn't think I'd ever hear that question from someone who really meant it!"

"Very well, " Fiske couldn't control his wide smile. He activated the small aircraft's autopilot, after making sure the sky around them was empty. "Custom dictates that you extend your left hand to me."

Shego complied, still somewhat dazed. Monty paused a moment before slipping the ring onto her finger.

"I know that traditionally, the ring is supposed to be gold with a diamond. However, your plasma powers would melt gold. This ring is Jade, which should be able to withstand the heat. Unfortunately, I haven't had time to finish it completely, so it's still a little rough."

"Monty," she sobbed. "Considering who you're about to put the ring on, I think that 'rough around the edges' is appropriate." Shego couldn't help but smile as Monty slipped the stone ring onto her finger.

Shego switched the autopilot off and took control of the aircraft, turning it back around towards the airstrip. The recent exchange, punctuated by the piece of jewelry on her finger, had cancelled the lessons for today. A jade ring was a perfect reflection of her, beautiful, green and durable. Something bothered her about the ring.

"Monty," she asked him. "Where did this ring come from?"

"If you must know, it is an artifact. I found it in an unfinished state and I've been finishing it."

"Okay, just how did it happen to be in your pocket just now?"

"I put it there, of course. How do you think it came to be in my pocket?"

"Monty…" Shego tried to growl, but her smile took most of the sting out of her tone.

"Very well, since we are criminals and associate with other criminals, I consider it very likely that someone may rob my workshop at some time. I did not want to loose this piece."

"Okay…okay," Shego nodded. "I'm not a stonecarver, or whatever you call 'em, but I know that jade is a very hard stone. How long have you been working on this ring?"

"A number of weeks."

"You've been meaning to propose for that long? Even before you knew I wanted a baby?"

"Steady and level flight!" Monty shouted, as Shego's control over the aircraft slipped a bit. "I really don't want to die in an airplane accident now. To answer your question, yes. I wanted to have the ring completely polished before asking the question. However, when you brought up the prospect of a family, it seemed appropriate."

"Yes, it was," Shego agreed. The mercenary pushed the happy thoughts to the back of her mind and concentrated on flying the airplane back to the airstrip. Once they arrived, she had to make some arrangements. While the wedding wouldn't be a very flashy affair, she wanted a ceremony. Then she had to find the proper doctor.

* * *

"Monique, I'm altering your project slightly."

Monique Jenkins looked up from her workstation to give her supervisor a hairy eyeball. While she appreciated Club Banana sponsoring her in the upcoming Young Fashion Designers Contest, alterations with only two weeks before the runway only made things even more hectic.

"Okay, but I suppose I'm about to hear a pretty good reason," Monique replied, keeping her temper in check. After all, if Monique managed to place well in the contest, Club Banana would receive a lot of good publicity.

"There is," the older woman smiled at her. "Trust me, I've been in your shoes plenty of times. I know that this isn't a good time to make changes. Believe it or not, we're doing this at the request of an international agency."

"I have a hard time believing that the fate of the world is going to rest on my design," Monique quipped.

"Okay, maybe not directly. This agency wants you to use another model."

"Whoa that's not good," Monique protested. "I mean, Hope was nice enough to volunteer. Not only is that going to seriously tweak her, but I'm going to have to do some serious reworking!"

"I understand. Why don't we go into my office? You'll meet your new model and someone who can explain the whole situation?"

Grumbling, Monique followed her supervisor into the older woman's office. When the two women stepped inside, a twenty-something man rose politely to his feet. Monique had to admit that he was kind of cute.

"Agent Du, I would like you to meet the young woman who's going to win the Young Fashion Designers Contest, Monique Jenkins. Monique, this is Agent Will Du, from Global Justice."

"No offense," Monique told the young man. "But you don't exactly have the bust to make my Swimwear Category ensemble work."

Will Du belied the stories Kim and Ron used to tell about him, by breaking into a wide grin and laughing at her remark.

"I'm afraid we can't all be blessed," the agent quipped back. "But I hope that my butt makes up for the shortcoming." Still smiling, the agent offered Monique his hand, which Monique accepted.

"I'll let the two of you talk," Monique's manager told the two. The older woman stepped out of her office, shutting the door behind her.

"Would you please be seated?" Du offered. As Monique took one of the chairs, Will pulled a funny looking gizmo out of a pocket and manipulated a few controls. The device made an unpleasant, if subdued, trilling sound.

"Eavesdropping device inhibitor," Du explained, setting the gizmo on the supervisor's desk. "It will render most listening devices useless. Standard issue for elite, Global Justice agents." Du pulled the supervisor's chair out from behind her desk and sat down.

"I hope you don't mind me sitting a little closer than custom dictates," he said. "It seems a little disrespectful to sit behind someone else's desk."

"You're not like what Kim and Ron described," Monique admitted. "They told me that you were arrogant and condescending. You've been polite, so far."

"I'm having an off day," Du quipped. "Seriously though, I hope to make a more positive impression on Miss Possible and Mr. Stoppable in the near future. However, I'm sure that you're very busy and are more interested in hearing why Global Justice is interfering with your competition than discussing my personality quirks."

"You got that right."

"Very well, let's cut to the chase. During your association with Miss Possible and Mr. Stoppable, have they ever mentioned a father-son villain team called the Seniors?"

"Yeah, the father is an elderly guy, really polite, whose hobby is being a crook. The son is a kind of overgrown boy who wants to be a rock star."

"That's close enough to work with," Du nodded. "They also control…staggering…amounts of wealth. Add this wealth to the criminal and business contacts that Senior has established over the years and you have the potential for a very dangerous player in the international criminal game."

"Okay, but this isn't telling me how my designs are going to help you keep tabs on them."

"I'm getting to that, Miss Jenkins. Global Justice has recently learned that Senior is holding a competition. He is inviting certain young women to his island so that they can compete in a sort of pageant to win Junior's affections. The winner will become Junior's wife and this competition will take place three weeks after your design contest."

"I already have a boyfriend," Monique informed the agent.

"I'm sorry, you misunderstand," Will smiled. "Global Justice has obtained the services of a young woman who has agreed to be a contestant. If this woman wins the contest, she will be able to both report any extreme activity on Junior's part and, hopefully, be able to exert substantial influence upon his behavior. I'm sure you've guessed that I'm not your new model, this young woman will be your new model."

"Okay, how are my designs going to help her win?"

"The Seniors put a great deal of importance on awards and accolades," Du explained. "If our candidate models your designs, and places highly in your contest, it will enhance her ability to win the Seniors' competition."

"Let me get this straight," Monique demanded, her voice rising in indignation. "You want me to help some girl look hot, so that some crook can decide to marry her? You want me to help you degrade some poor girl like that? That's disgusting!"

"Miss Jenkins, it may sound like I'm justifying my actions but I'll try to explain. First of all, some young woman is going to marry Junior no matter how indignant you get over it. Secondly, our candidate is going to compete for Junior's affection whether or not you agree to this. Thirdly, this young woman has already volunteered for this. Finally, the implications behind the term 'marriage' aren't as encompassing as you are assuming. While the young woman will technically marry Junior, she will not be expected to consummate the marriage. The contest announcement specifically calls for an annulment period, during which she will live on the island, in order to make sure that the two are compatible before anything physical occurs between them. While I agree that competing for this young man is degrading towards the contestants, you can rest assured that you won't be, in effect, prostituting some young woman."

"So this is really important?" Monique asked, after a moment to think over what Du had told her.

"I'm not going to say that it's the highest item on our priority list," Du admitted. "But the Seniors are a real concern to international law enforcement agencies."

"Okay, fine," Monique decided. "Kim and Ron have gone out there and put their butts on the line enough, the least I can do is help out with what I do well."

"Thank you, Miss Jenkins," Du said, sincerely. "While monetary transfers can be a sensitive issue, we are prepared to compensate you in other ways. We will underwrite your first year's tuition fees at whichever secondary education institution you choose."

"Okay, this sounds a little crass, but why can't you pay cash for service?"

"It's an accounting trick," Du explained. "By keeping our expenditures discrete, it's easier for us to keep our paid assistants secret. Global Justice has a lot of enemies, Miss Jenkins, so it's better for everyone if nobody figures out that you helped us."

"Okay, I can appreciate that," Monique decided. "Now, when can I meet this model? I've got some major alterations to do and not much time to do them."

"She's waiting outside," Du informed her. "You can come in now," he said into his communication device.

Moments later the office door opened to admit Bonnie Rockwaller.

"Say what!!?" Monique demanded.

"I'll leave the two of you to get to work," Du informed the two young women. He picked up the eavesdropping device inhibitor, turned it off and left the room.

Monique stared at Bonnie for several minutes, not saying a word. Bonnie grew increasingly uncomfortable until finally, she was compelled to speak.

"Look, Monique, K, Ron and I made our peace," she explained. "I know that I was never very nice to you, because you were a friend of Kim's but I'm not playing the queen B game anymore."

"That's all personal," Monique explained. "We'll be having some interesting talks about how you spent years putting my friends down. Now just chillax and let me do my work. Okay, your complexion and hair color are close enough to Hope's that I'll be able to alter my color schemes rather than throw them out the door. You're taller than Hope, but I'll be able to work with that. I hope you don't have any plans for tonight, cause the two of us are going to be putting in some really late hours."

"Monique, do you know what a subdermal tracking chip is?"

"No."

"It's a tracking chip that has been inserted under the skin in one of my legs. The doctor that did it made incisions on both legs, so I couldn't tell which one has the chip. Anyway, there's a receiver here and a receiver at my house. If I'm not here, at home, or traveling a straight line between the two, I'm visiting the big house. Trust me, as much as you hold a grudge for the way I treated Kim and Ron, I'd rather be here than at home with Connie and Lonnie."

"We might as well get to work," Monique told her, leading the way out of the office and to her workstation. I have to produce outfits for formal wear, casual wear, active wear and swimwear, so we're looking at spending a lot of time together."

* * *

Beep-Beep-be-Beep.

The Kimmunicator's familiar tone, which had been thankfully silent all week, interrupted Kim's half-sleeping daydream. The teen heroine didn't bother opening her eyes, she simply groped for her beach bag and pulled out the offending device.

"What's the sitch, Wade?" She asked. "You're cutting into my last day of sunning."

"Sorry Kim, but I have a direct request from Dr. Director herself."

"Patch her through," Kim sighed. Opening her eyes, she saw that Ron had roused himself and was also paying attention to the conversation.

"Sorry to bother you, Kim," the older woman's face appeared on the screen. "But we have a situation with the Seniors that needs your intervention."

"I thought that the French, Italian and Spanish navies sort of…convinced…them to give up on the whole villainy thing," Ron protested.

"We don't intend to send Kim in to halt criminal activity, Ron," Dr. Director informed the teen. "While we have some indications that the Seniors my be contemplating criminal activity, this mission has nothing to do with preventing it."

"Then why do you want me…hey!" Kim suddenly realized a key point from Dr. Director's statements. "What do you mean send _me_ in? Don't you mean send _us_ in?"

"In this case, we need you, not your team," Dr. Director informed the young redhead.

"So not happening," Kim declared. "I work with Ron in the field and Wade backing us up."

"What about Rufus?" Ron asked.

"I consider the two of you to be a single unit," Kim informed her boyfriend.

"Ah..." Ron nodded.

"We're getting a little far afield here," Dr. Director announced. "Kim, would you like to talk this over in a more private setting?"

"Not without Ron."

"Very well," Dr. Director sighed. "There's a small beach shop roughly a quarter mile north of you. Why don't the two of you go have yourselves an iced latte? Tell the counterman that you heard that the Manager's Special was the best." The Kimmunicator screen went dark.

"What does liquid snackage have to do with a GJ mission?" Ron asked.

"It's a front," Kim explained, rolling her eyes at the fact that Ron was still capable of seeing complex schemes, but not simple ones.

"Oh, so the counterman will show us the way to some sort of secure communications center?"

"Exactly," Kim told him, rolling up her beach towel and pulling a pair of shorts over her swimsuit. "What?" She asked, seeing Ron's troubled expression.

"Will the iced latte be any good?"

"I don't think we're going to get any iced Latte, Ron."

"Aw, man, that tanks!" Ron whined, but he quickly gathered his belongings, pulled on a pair of sandals and accompanied his girlfriend up the beach. Before long, they spotted the beach shop and approached the small snack counter.

"Where did you hear about the Manager's Special," the counterman asked. "It's not up on the menu board."

"An…acquaintance…told us it was the best," Kim told him.

"Okay, do you both want one?"

"What one of us gets, the other one gets," Kim assured him.

"Very well, why don't the two of you have a seat? They take a bit to mix up."

Kim and Ron had no more sat next to each other on a pair of stools when the floor dropped out from under them. It was a very short vacuum tube trip but Kim could see the look of utmost disgust on Ron's face, as the two were sucked along to an unknown destination. Kim couldn't help but wonder what Dr. Director thought about Ron's report detailing the cost savings by eliminating Global Justice's signature transportation mode.

"What is it with GJ and vacuum tubes?" Ron demanded, once they were out of the tubes. "I mean, that was a short, little trip. Elevators are cheaper than vacuum tubes and stairs are cheaper yet. Better yet, couldn't they just make it a big water slide? I mean, why not have some fun on the way? "

"Ron, hush!" Kim told him, looking at their surroundings. While she knew that they were somewhere underground, she didn't know where. It looked like they were in a moderately sized conference room. They had just stepped out of two, in a bank of four, tubes. A table, surrounded by perhaps twenty chairs, sat in the center of the room. Two doors led from the room. For a moment, Kim and Ron just stood next to the tubes, wondering what to do.

"Very well, Team Possible," Dr. Director's face appeared on a large screen, which dominated one of the walls. "Won't you have a seat?"

The two teens sat at the table, which Kim now realized was set up so that anyone speaking to the room, via the screen, assumed the 'head of the table' position.

"This is a secure communications facility," the one-eyed woman explained to the teens, once they were seated. "Nobody will be able to eavesdrop on our conversation. Now, here's what Global Justice requires from you, Kim."

Kim listened, first with disbelief and then with anger, as Dr. Director explained the Seniors' 'marry Junior contest.' Ron's expression, although he tried to hide it, was getting angry, as well.

"Let me get this straight," Kim snarled at Dr. Director. "You want me to compete against other girls for the…_privilege_…of marrying that childish, ego on feet?"

"It would give us a way to influence his actions…" Dr. Director began to explain, only to have Kim interrupt her.

"There's no way I'm going to do this," Kim informed her, with an icy tone. "For the first thing, I have a boyfriend who's a dozen times better than Junior. Secondly, there's no way I'm going to degrade myself by…competing…over Junior. Finally, you want me to seduce Junior and I haven't even managed to seduce Ron yet, and I love him! Ooops!"

Dr. Director's visible eyebrow raised slightly at that last remark, making both Kim and Ron decidedly uncomfortable.

"I understand your reluctance, Kim," Dr. Director said, after watching the teens squirm for a few minutes. "However, this marriage doesn't necessarily involve the more physical aspects. It is intended to start out as a marriage of convenience, to be annulled or expanded as your compatibility dictates."

"In other words, a marriage with no marital relations?" Kim asked.

"Exactly."

"Still no dice," Kim insisted. "When I walk down that aisle, I intend for it to last forever. I'm not going to compete for Junior and I'm not going to get married to anybody but Ron, even if it's just on paper. Maybe it's a good thing that this sitch came up now. I understand that Global Justice places agents all over the world and that some of them are forced to adopt a morality a little more…permissive…than I'm comfortable with. I had hoped to apply to Global Justice after I graduate from college, but there are some lines I won't cross. If Global Justice expects me to do certain things, it will just be a waste of time for both of us if I apply."

"Very well, Miss Possible," Dr. Director was all business again. "However, I would now like to request Team Possible's assistance. Global Justice has another…contestant…competing in this contest. I would like Team Possible to accompany her, to insure her safety."

"Wait! I'm not understanding that one," Ron admitted. "Senior might be a crook, but he's not one to abuse his guests. If he invites her to his island, he'll make sure that no harm comes to her."

"The Seniors won't harm her," Dr. Director confirmed. "And they won't allow any lasting harm to befall her while she's on the island. However, the contest they're putting on is part pageant and part elimination tournament. The contestants will be trying to force each other off of the island. While Senior will not allow overt force, he will allow intimidation, coercion and other underhanded tactics."

"In other words," Ron quipped. "What Senior doesn't see doesn't count."

"Exactly," Dr. Director answered. "And that's why we want Team Possible to insure her safety. In addition to the contest itself, we find it very likely that some of the other contestants may attempt a power play on Senior's property. We want an asset in place to prevent either occurrence."

"Then how are you going to justify our being there," Kim asked. "The Seniors know us and they know that we're affiliated with GJ."

"We've already worked that out," Dr. Director told her. "We'll give you a full briefing when you get back to Middleton. We may also talk about the various positions within Global Justice, and the duties they include. In the meantime, enjoy the remainder of your vacation. The vacuum tubes will return you to the beach shop."

The panel went dark, leaving the teens with no choice but to return to the tubes. Moments later, they were seated at the snack counter, where a couple of iced Lattes were waiting for them. Although the beverages were tasty and refreshing, Ron noticed that Kim seemed aggravated. The teens finished the refreshments and left the shop, walking back towards their previous sunning spot.

"Uh, KP?" Ron tried to get her to talk about what was bothering her.

"What?" She snapped back.

"Hey, I just thought I'd ask what's bothering you," he told her. "I'll admit that slurping down a full glass of caffeine isn't the best way to calm down, but you seem really tweaked."

"I am," she grumbled.

"Feel like talking about it?" He asked.

"Just as soon as we get down to the surf," Kim told him. "I want plenty of wave noise to cover up our conversation."

"Do you really think someone might be listening to us?"

"I don't know," Kim muttered. "But I have a major vent coming on and I don't want to take any chances."

Soon, the teens reached the seashore. They took off their sandals and walked along the beach, sometimes walking on damp sand, sometimes walking in ankle-deep water. Ron remained silent, guessing that Kim was organizing her thoughts, or maybe regaining her composure. While he had been irritated that Global Justice had wanted his girlfriend to try to catch another guy's eye, Kim had been stewing since Dr. Director had made her request.

"Ron," Kim finally murmured, in a very small voice. "Do you think that I'm pretty?"

"Pretty?" Ron replied, incredulously. "The word is beautiful. Completely, badically, beautiful."

"I don't want to sound arrogant, but I know that I'm pretty," Kim told him. "It's not like I've ever hated being attractive. In fact, I've always kind of enjoyed turning heads, but it really bothers me when someone just looks at me and thinks that all I am is a pretty face and a nice figure."

"And this mission GJ wanted you to take…" Ron prompted.

"Made me feel exactly that way," Kim confirmed. "Ron, what's the stereotypical cheerleader? You know, the ones that are shown on movies and television shows?"

"I…uh…" Ron stammered.

"Don't worry, I'm not tweaked at you," Kim assured him. "Let me have it."

"Okay…The stereotype for a cheerleader is a bubble-headed hottie She loves to shop, dance, watch soap operas and date jocks. She takes the easiest classes through high school and will go on to college to cheer and pursue a MRS degree. Once she gets out of school, she will have a career as a trophy wife."

"That's the stereotype," Kim confirmed. "I don't think you have any idea how much I hate it when someone sees me in my uniform and assumes I'm an idiot because of it. Wade has always done a great job at filtering requests and emails, eliminating the ones sent by people more interested in the fact that I'm a hot girl than the fact that I'm a capable hero and student. Still, a few get through and they've always irritated me to no end. It's bad enough when strangers make those assumptions and requests but when Global Justice wants me to live up to the stereotype it just…..EEErrrrrgh!" Kim snarled in frustration.

The two walked in silence for a few minutes, with Kim quietly fuming. Ron wanted to reach out and put a comforting arm around her shoulders but considering the conversation's topic, he didn't know if he should. Finally, Kim was prepared to resume the discussion.

"I don't think you'll ever understand how much I've appreciated the fact that you've never thought less of me because I'm pretty, or a cheerleader, or interested in fashion," Kim told him.

"Probably as much as I've appreciated the fact that you've stuck with me, even though I was lazy, random and unmotivated," he retorted.

Kim's arm snaked out and wrapped around his waist, prompting Ron to put his arm around her shoulders.

"This is different," Kim insisted. "You've never questioned my intelligence or abilities. Okay, you always bodily put yourself between me and kitchen appliances and you always deal with the people that I just can't get along with. The fact is, me being pretty has always been sort of secondary to the way you treat me."

"I dunno, KP. You put me into hormone meltdown quite a bit."

"I like putting you into hormone meltdown," she giggled, before growing serious again. "But you've always seen me, and treated me, as much more than a pretty face and a nice figure, even before we started dating. Thanks for loving the whole me."

"Thanks for loving me, even though I'm not golden….Owww!"

Kim had strong opinions about Ron criticizing himself.

* * *

_A/N: Another chapter down. Thanks for sticking with me this long, and thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for beta reading. His suggestions and corrections were indispensible. _

_Until my next posting, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	5. Delays and Planning

Chapter 5: Delays and Planning

"No, Mike, when you have an equation inside the parenthesis you have to multiply it by the number outside the parenthesis before you can add and subtract values." Felix demonstrated the concept, yet again, to the hulking behemoth he had wound up teaching.

Felix watched as the oversized student tried again, this time arriving at the correct answer. While Felix had been the valedictorian for his graduating class, the school district had somehow decided that since he had missed a few weeks, he needed to make them up before he received his diploma. Felix didn't understand this, since his work had been done, ahead of time, before he had left to undergo the controversial medical procedure. His summer of freedom had been delayed three weeks while he tutored summer school students, who had failed various math classes. Strangely, his mother had fully backed the school's decision.

Felix had first protested his duties, pointing out that he had obtained permission slips from all of his teachers, his principal and his mother, for his absence. He had turned in all of his assignments ahead of time. After all, he had argued, it was standard practice for students to miss classes for various, school-approved events. As long as they made up their work within an acceptable time, there were no negative consequences. After all, if a student could miss classes to attend a musical competition, why couldn't he miss time in order to undergo a medical procedure? Barkin had been unable to counter this argument but Dr. Renton had settled the dispute with one sentence:

"I'm your mother and I say you're going to do this."

Felix had swallowed his complaints and reported to Mr. Barkin's office the next morning. Less than an hour later, Felix Renton, the boy who had correctly calculated how much the pressure of sunlight would knock a space probe traveling to Mars off course, found himself helping slacker students figure out simple arithmetic, algebra and geometry. He sincerely hoped that nobody at MIT would ever hear about this.

While Felix first felt a great deal of disdain for his charges, he was surprised when his own attitude started to change. Big Mike, for instance, wanted to learn math but just didn't have much aptitude for the subject. Soon after Felix started teaching the class, he found out that Mike worked for a landscaper. Once the valedictorian wrote questions that forced Big Mike to calculate the number of truckloads of dirt, or the number of rolls of landscaping fabric, needed for a particular job, the oversized boy quickly showed more interest in the subject. While Big Mike would never be a mathlete, he had advanced a surprising amount under Felix's tutorage. Felix had tried the same tactic with his other charges, with similar results for most.

This afternoon, however, was Felix's last day. When the class time came to an end, he said some surprisingly fond good-byes to most of the remedial students. After the last of his charges left, Felix got up and ambled towards Mr. Barkin's office. The big Vice-Principal wanted to meet with him today and Felix only hoped that it wasn't to announce that he owed the school another several weeks of attendance.

Anybody who didn't know Felix, and saw him walking through the halls, would have assumed that he was either injured or intoxicated; Felix Renton was neither. A few weeks ago, the young man had regained the use of his lower body. Since the last time he had actually walked had been some twelve years in the past, he was still understandably clumsy. Warmonga's procedure had given him enough muscle _to_ move his body around, but not the skill and experience _of_ moving it around. Determined to reacquire this skill as quickly as possible, Felix walked almost everywhere.

Eventually, his unsteady stride carried him to the Vice-Principal's door. Felix knocked and was rewarded by Barkin's voice, gently bellowing for him to enter.

"Ah, Mr. Renton," the big man rumbled. "Close the door behind you and have a seat." Mr. Barkin put away the papers he had been working on while Felix complied.

"I'm not going to dally," Barkin informed Felix, once he was ready to speak. "I suspect that you are perfectly aware that the last three weeks you have spent here were not strictly some sort of attendance issue."

Felix nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Very well," Barkin continued. "While I am not one to dwell upon emotion, my superiors have charged me with the task of finding out what you were feeling as you went about your summer school duties."

"Sir?" Felix asked.

"How were you feeling," Barkin clarified. "Were you sad, angry, indignant or resentful?"

"I was mad at first," Felix admitted. "It seemed so unfair, why did I have to attend summer school when I had all of my work done? Granted, the reason I missed those weeks of school wasn't the reason I had claimed on my excuse slip, but I had still made up the work. Even with the fact that I had deceived everyone by claiming it was an internship, it seemed unfair. After all, Bonnie Rockwaller had dealt drugs and she wasn't in summer school. Why should the valedictorian make up an excused, if deceitful, attendance?"

"You seemed rather angry when you started," Barkin nodded. "What changed your attitude?"

"Working with my fellow students," Felix answered. "Don't get me wrong, I really don't care for some of them; mainly the guys who just sit there and refuse to do anything. Then there's guys like Big Mike. Once I showed him how he could make use of algebra to help with his job, he really started to try."

"Very well, Renton, I'm going to tell you why you really spent three weeks in summer school. It all has to do with some doubts you shared with Stoppable on graduation day."

"Yes," Felix agreed. "I found out, after waking up from the treatment, that the treatment instilled a…sense of entitlement…in previous patients. I'm scared to death that I'm going to start thinking that the world owes me a great job and a happy life."

"That's what all of this was about," Mr. Barkin admitted. "I will not say who, but several agencies were concerned that you may go down the same path that Warrick Loward and Amy Hall did. For this reason, these agencies directed this school district to require you to attend summer classes, something you would look at as an injustice. These agencies wanted to see if you would continue to bemoan your fate or if you would simply go forward with the curve ball life had thrown your way. I'm pleased to report that you adapted to and overcame the situation."

"So this was some kind of a test?"

"A test, some punishment, and hopefully a lesson all rolled into one," Mr. Barkin corrected the teen. "Your mother was more than upset with you, as I'm sure she made evident to you."

Felix flinched, remembering how incredibly angry his mother has been. Dr. Renton was usually a calm, reserved professional, even privately. After she had assured herself that her son was alive and well, she had shrieked like a harpy at him for several days.

"When she heard about these agencies' idea, she considered it to be an appropriate punishment." Mr. Barkin paused, then grinned slyly. "I suppose that Miss Tanaka also made you aware of her displeasure?"

"That's putting it mildly," Felix flinched again, even worse that when he remembered how his mother had reacted.

Yori had been there from the moment he had awoken. It had been her face he had seen when he opened his eyes. It had been her concerned expression that had comforted him when he panicked, realizing that he was under water. It was her eyes he watched as he recalled where he was and why he was there. She had held his hand as the machinery hoisted him out of the tank and onto a medical bed, where a team had examined him.

Later, after the team had declared him healthy, Yori had hugged him, whispering how frightened she had been that he would be gone forever. She had then slapped him, angry that he had frightened her so much. She had then kissed him, telling him how frightened she had been, thinking he would never awaken. Immediately after that she had slapped him again, demanding to know how he could think her so shallow that she would set him aside because of his handicap. Immediately after that, she kissed him again, apologizing for her behavior while he was still dazed and confused. Then she had slapped him again, berating him for his dishonor in worrying his mother. Fortunately, the GJ team insisted that he needed rest. Felix was disoriented, emotionally strained, and in danger of permanently staring forty-five degrees to the right of dead ahead from the slapping he had received.

"I see that you're recalling the event," Mr. Barkin chuckled, breaking Felix out of his reverie. "I won't intrude upon your privacy, but I will tell you that the various authorities observing your behavior, including me, are satisfied with you. I'm certain that you're nervously expecting another several weeks of summer school. This isn't the case. While numerous agencies will be contacting you in the weeks and months to follow, you are free of the shackles imposed by the Middleton Independent School District. I now release you to the tender mercies of your mother and girlfriend."

"Very funny, Mr. B." Felix flinched for the third time, predicting what the 'end of the punishment' discussion with his mother would be like. He had reconciled with Yori before she returned to Japan. In fact, the reconciliation had taken on a form that he was sure would prompt his mother to give him yet another lecture, if she ever found out.

"I rather thought so," Mr. Barkin favored the young man with one of his rare smiles. "I'm also informing you that the school's gymnasium is still available for your use. I've spoken to a couple of the representatives charged with observing your recovery and they all agree that athletic activity will be an excellent way to acquire full motor control."

"I appreciate it Mr. B, but would an additional question about this whole, complicated incident make all the good feelings everybody has about me go way?"

"It depends on the question."

"These agencies think that I've managed to avoid the superiority complex?"

"You'll be getting more information from your doctor and from various law enforcement officials," Barkin told him. "But the short answer is that you have a superiority complex, but your intelligence is able to compensate for it."

"One last question, Mr. B. What happened to Bonnie? I'm not trying to whine about her getting off light or anything like that. I just can't help but think that she got caught in a superiority complex of her own."

"The powers that be have decreed another way for Miss Rockwaller to pay her debt to the society she scorned," Mr. Barkin told his former student. "While I have no need to know the details, the Middleton Police have informed me that while her…punishment…might seem like a reward, it's going to be far from pleasant."

* * *

The contest was over, the congratulations had been given and received and the cheering had finally died down. The models and designers who hadn't won had already left. While most of the young women had offered sincere, best wishes to the winners, a few had lived up to the term 'catty'. Monique was surprised how quickly the backstage area had gone from a seething mass of humanity to an empty, echoing shell.

"You really did an incredible job," Bonnie told the designer. "I mean, the plan was for you to place highly, not come out and win the contest."

"Hey, I don't settle when I put the fashion together, y'know," Monique told the former cheerleader. After a pause, she continued, "I have to admit that you really put in the effort, as well. I thought that it would be hard working with you but you really helped. Thanks."

"I might have been hard to work with last year," Bonnie admitted. "Screwing up as bad as I did sort of puts things into perspective, you know?"

"I hope I never make as big a mess of my life as you did," Monique told her. "But I have to wonder if all the hard work you did was so you could get that Junior guy and all his money."

"Trust me, I don't want to hook up with Junior again," Bonnie shuddered. "I really don't know what I want out of life…okay, I want to be the number one girl that every other girl wants to be and every guy wants, but I don't want to be with Junior. Still, if winning his little contest helps GJ reign him in, and keeps me out of the slammer, I'll do it."

"You really don't have much choice anymore, do you?" Monique actually managed to drum up some sympathy for her best friend's rival.

"No," Bonnie shook her head sadly. "It's either try to win Junior or face up to what I've done. Neither really looks all that good right now, but Junior looks better than jail."

"Okay, I never thought I'd hear myself say this," Monique said, after a few more minutes of deep thought. "But if this thing with Junior doesn't work out for you, look me up. When we won this contest, it opened up a lot of doors for me and I intend to take advantage of them. To do that, I'll need a couple of good models and we made a really good team."

"We did, didn't we," a bit of Bonnie's old, superior smirk reappeared. "But I have to wonder why you'd want me back. I mean, you had Hope working with you before GJ talked you into picking me up, I'm sure Kim would model for you and Tara seems custom made for modeling. You're a whole lot closer to all of them than you are to me."

"You'd be surprised," Monique told Bonnie. "I'll still work with Hope, since she likes the work. Kim isn't really that good of model material, even though she's my best friend. She isn't available for the long fitting sessions. You never know when she's going to get called out on one of her missions. As for Tara, you'd be surprised by just how shy she really is."

"Tara, shy?" Bonnie was stunned. "I've been friends with her for years. A shy girl doesn't put on that cheerleader uniform and do the routines in front of the whole school."

"That's because she was wearing a flattering uniform to _do_ something," Monique informed the former social queen. "She doesn't mind that, but the whole thought of putting on a hot little number and letting strangers stare at her gives her the willies."

"I can't believe it," Bonnie insisted. "I've know her to put on a rather revealing outfit and flirt with guys."

"Yeah, but she was targeting a particular guy," Monique insisted. "She doesn't mind getting _**a**_ guy's attention. She doesn't mind dressing hot as part of a team effort. It's the idea of dressing hot and saying 'hey everyone, look at me' that backs her off."

"Well, even with Tara not feeling comfortable, I'm sure you could work around Kim's missions if the two of you really put your minds to it. For that matter, you could probably get Cindy to model, as well."

"Believe it or not, I talked to Cindy and she's actually interested," Monique answered. "She's serious about her journalism and she likes the idea of writing about the modeling experience from the inside. I made the big mistake of having Kim and Cindy bring Ron and Oscar along for a test shoot, sort of a 'two couples out on a double date background' type of thing. THAT was a mistake."

"Oh?" Bonnie was honestly confused. While Ron and Oscar weren't golden, they were both athletic enough that it should have worked, especially for a test shoot.

"Those two guys," Monique grumbled, shaking their head. "I'm serious about fashion but can they understand it? NOOooooo! The whole time they kept asking each other questions like: 'do these shoes bring out my eyes?' 'Does this hat make my butt look big?' Then Oscar asked Ron if his shorts made his arms look too long and Ron told him no, that it was his long arms that made his arms look too long. The one thing I will NOT put up with is people who don't take what I'm doing seriously. I chased them off and they went fishing." Monique paused a moment then, "Hey! Are you TRYING to talk me out of working with you?"

"Not really," Bonnie told her. "I just don't want to start working with you some day, only to have you tell me to take a hike after you've had enough of me."

"Okay, LMPIOTL," Monique told her model. After a few moments of Bonnie's confused look, Monique clarified, "let me put it on the line. You've put my friends down ever since I showed up at Middleton High and from what I've heard, you put them down for years before that. Still, we're out of high school now and you seem to be trying to turn over a new leaf. I'm willing to help out. Besides, you have the model look."

"I'm trying to straighten myself out," Bonnie assured her. Then after a moment, she agreed. "I _do_ have the model's look, don't I?"

* * *

"This is something I just don't understand," Fiske told his bride-to-be.

"What's so hard to understand?" Shego asked. "This is the rehearsal. We show up at the church and the priest walks us through the ceremony. That way tomorrow, when it's for real and the few people that we can actually invite show up, we don't make complete fools out of ourselves. I'd really hate to waste _everybody_ who sees me screwing something up, so it's better if we get it right."

"It's not the rehearsal that has me confused," Monty assured her. As a nobleman, he had suffered through many, seemingly endless weddings. He was thankful that this ceremony, being an underworld union, would be much shorter and private than the other affairs he had attended. "It may be hard for you to believe, but I don't really like looking like a fool, myself. No, what I find confusing is that we were able to find a priest to perform the ceremony so quickly while we have yet to track down a doctor willing to perform an in-vitro procedure."

At Shego's confused look, he expanded. "Aren't priests supposed to represent and promote the moral good, while doctors are supposed to treat their patients without regard to said patients' activities? Here we are; a pair of smugglers who regularly resort to extortion and intimidation. Ironically, we are capable of finding a priest to marry us on short notice but no doctor to help us reproduce."

"Monty, I'm the last person you want to discus comparative morality with," Shego giggled at him. "I've played both sides of the fence. The only thing I can say is that certain priests realize that the world isn't perfect and you do what you have to too make a living. These fertility doctors are a pretty specialized bunch and I don't think that the smuggling community has a big demand for their services."

"Ah, so when supply and demand meets morality, supply and demand wins?"

"Something like that," Shego smirked. "Hey, look at the bright side. If it takes us a little while to track down the specialist, it will give us a chance to get used to the whole idea."

"Shego, we've been cohabiting for almost a year now. I've grown accustomed to your presence."

"As a housemate, not a spouse," Shego pointed out. "Don't ask me to explain it, but once we had a plan, a lot of my urgency just sort of dried up. Now, everyone's here, let's get this over with. I'll be staying with Julia tonight, since it's bad luck for you to see me before the ceremony tomorrow."

Monty grumbled a little bit as they walked into the sanctuary, but it was mostly for appearance's sake rather than real irritation. He had become accustomed to having Shego in their home but he was willing to put up with her absence for one night in return for a lifetime together.

* * *

It just didn't work out! Warmonga wasn't a genius when it came to superpowers, but she wasn't completely in the dark. A cutting-edge geneticist, she understood that such powers had to have a genetic cause. She had been patient when Fiske had raved about the Mystical Monkey Power and when Drew had raved about Team Go's Go Powers. She understood a simple concept: such influences had altered the recipient's DNA, making them exhibit superhuman abilities. Somewhere in such individuals' DNA, the secret lurked. Once she isolated the proper genome and the proper supporting genomes, she would be able to splice genes and access such abilities.

So why, even with Shego and Stoppable's cells, couldn't she isolate the Go Power or Mystical Monkey Power sequences?

Warmonga leaned back in her oversized chair and looked over her makeshift laboratory. The term 'makeshift' was probably misleading, as it suggested primitive and barely functional. This was not the case. Over the past weeks, the giantess had seized control of Seattle's illicit drug market and used the profits to fund her research. Most people would be surprised to know how few questions came up when sophisticated, medical equipment changed hands, in exchange for money. The fact was that Warmonga had put together a laboratory and production facilities that would make most university research specialists drool with envy. In practice, she had access to better facilities than government or university researchers. After all, such researchers had to justify their expenditures to oversight and budget committees. Warmonga answered only to her own whims and her whims directed her to solve the genetic mysteries behind Mystical Monkey Power and Go Power.

So why hadn't she been able to do so?

Warmonga rubbed at her temples with a rare feeling of frustration. Back when DNAmy contented herself with creating living cuddlebuddies, her research had been much less irritating. She had her setbacks, but she was always moving towards her goal of creating stable, combined life forms. Whenever she experienced a failure, she had simply reviewed what she had gone wrong and had worked to correct it. Now, however, Warmonga was unable to get a theoretical toehold on the MMP and as for the Go Power, she only had the most limited understanding.

Warmonga reviewed her options. She was capable of creating Stoppable or Shego clones, from the cells she had collected, but that wasn't her goal. She wanted to isolate their energies and make use of them. She wanted to imbue herself with Shego's Go Power and Stoppable's Mystical Monkey Power and use them to crush both of her tormentors. Failing that, she wanted to create a life form with both powers. Such a being would be more than either Stoppable or the hussy could manage and Warmonga would have her revenge.

But that wouldn't happen until after she cracked the genetic mystery.

Warmonga leaned back and tried to think her way around the problem. Certainly, she could continue to batter her head against the figurative wall but that hadn't accomplished anything. She considered cloning again. While cloning was still a cutting edge procedure for so-called ethical scientists, it was yesterday's news for her. Free of the fetters of morality, she had mastered the technique back when she was still that…other woman. Still, she considered cloning an inelegant solution, similar the way that an artist would consider a photocopy. After all, what would she gain by cloning those two? Just miniature versions of themselves…

Warmonga jumped to her feet with a sudden, predatory smile on her face. Sometimes the inelegant solution was the best solution! She could clone both Shego and Stoppable. This would allow her to observe, first hand, their unique powers under laboratory conditions. She looked around her laboratory and realized that she didn't have any development vats, which would act as artificial wombs. Halfway trough making a list of items she would need to construct this equipment, she realized that she didn't need them.

She had devoted a great deal of time and money developing her production tanks, even though she had chosen to destroy her last collection at her old factory, rather than risk discovery by moving them to her new facilities. A few modifications and a couple of the tanks would contain the developing clones quite nicely. She could even raise the clones to become loyal members of her empire. She smiled at the irony of it all: Stoppable and that hussy would become the keys to their own downfall!

* * *

"Mr. Lipsky, I hate to interrupt, but I have a priority communication from your benefactor."

"Very well, Hank, patch it through," Drew Lipsky had barely enough time to compose himself before Dr. Director's stern visage appeared on his computer screen.

"Dr. Director!" The former Dr. Drakken exclaimed. "This is an unexpected honor! Now, I can assure you that the sonic diarrheic project I'm working on is temporary and has no side effects. I was intending on full disclosure during my next, scheduled progress report."

"I'm not interested in your current projects," Dr. Director informed him. "I have an immediate assignment for you. You still have at least one of your stealth hoverjets, don't you?"

"Well, ah," Drew stammered. "We never really discussed my transportation assets when I took this position and I…uh…"

"Drew!"

"Yes, I have…at least…one."

"Very well, I'm sending you a set of coordinates and an encrypted file. I don't want you to decrypt the file until you're in the air. I need you in place before noon tomorrow."

"I can make it, barely," Drakken agreed, estimating his flight time and the time he needed to reach the hidden aircraft.

"Take very formal attire," Dr. Director advised him. "You'll be representing Global Justice, although you won't mention the fact. Good luck."

Dr. Director was about to kill the communication link when her lips quirked in a tiny smile. "Have you really perfected a sonic diarrheic?"

"Well, so far it appears to be about ninety percent effective."

"The so-called brown note?" She asked.

"Not so much," Drew admitted. "That bit of theory relies on amplitude more than tone. I've managed to find a tone above the human audible range."

"What are you using as a delivery system?"

"Er…biologic," Drew muttered.

"Lipsky, come clean!" Director demanded.

"All right," Drew confessed. "I've been training songbirds to match the proper tones."

"Why songbirds?"

"Well…nobody's done it before, I wanted to see if it was possible."

"Drew, take care of your assignment. We'll talk about practicality when you get back."

"Yes ma'am," Drew agreed, then rushed off to pack a bag, not noticing Dr. Director's grumbled comment about the difference between men and boys.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks again to everyone who's taken the time to read this story. I've really appreciated the supportive reviews and PM'd suggestions and comments._

_As always, my fond thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for his beta work, even at the cost of his own writing time._

_Until my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	6. The contest begins

Chapter 6: The Contest Begins

"I would like to thank all of you lovely and talented young women for taking the time to come to my humble island," Senior Senior Senior greeted the small group of young women seated in his living lair. Off to the side, Kim and Ron stood with the rest of the entourages, observing the contestants.

Kim was more than a little confused. First, she had no idea why the Seniors had suddenly decided to find a wife for Junior. Secondly, she really didn't think much of the current crop of candidates. There were four girls, in addition to Bonnie. Kim recognized Camille Leon and Adrena Lynn, she did not know the other two girls but one claimed to be Professor Dementor's daughter. The last girl was named Elly but Kim didn't know anything more about her.

"KP," Ron whispered to her. "How did…"

"While all of you know why you are here," Senior continued, prompting the blonde boy to become silent. "It would be most inconsiderate of me if I were to fail to explain both the rules of this competition and the reason I am hosting it. Ladies, it grieves me to announce to you all that I will not remain in this world much longer."

Senior's announcement prompted the five contestants to affect exaggerated gasps of dismay, with each girl trying to outdo the others in a very vocal outpouring of grief. Kim and Ron, while shocked at the news, were disgusted by the blatantly shallow emotions.

"Ladies, please allow me to continue," Senior interrupted. The wailing and crying stopped surprisingly quickly. "I do not wish to leave my son and heir to face this world alone, so that is why I am holding this competition. The girl who remains on this island long enough to win his heart will marry him, earning my eternal gratitude and, of course, access to my great wealth."

"Not just any young woman is capable of being my daughter-in-law," Senior continued. "I can only entrust my only son to a young woman who is beautiful, determined, and more than a little devious. For that reason, I have organized this competition."

"Perhaps this will be a good time for me to explain the rules," Senior told his prospective daughters-in-law. "The rules are very simple. The five of you will attempt to win Junior's heart with your poise, grace and beauty, while attempting to force each other to leave my island. You can intimidate each other, frighten each other, or humiliate each other. My son and myself shall be here at all times. If one of you becomes rattled, humiliated, or leaves the island, we will declare you unfit to become Junior's bride."

"HOWEVER!" The old man's voice was suddenly strong and stern. "I will not allow overt violence to my guests. Should you or a member of your entourage attempt to permanently injure or disfigure either a rival, or a member of her entourage, you will be eliminated from the competition. Please make note of the fact that I consider death to be a permanent injury. Do any of you have any questions?"

"Yes," Bonnie said raising her hand.

"Miss Rockwaller," the elderly man acknowledged her. "What question may I answer?"

"What do you mean by leaving the island? I mean, if we jump into the air, have we left the island?"

"A very interesting question," Senior answered, as the other girls tittered. "One of scale, in fact. No, Miss Rockwaller, I am not so petty as to declare that you must remain in contact with the soil of my island at all times. Instead, should you leave these shores during the contest, and get caught by either myself or my son, you will be eliminated from the competition."

"Are we going to have freaky challenges or immunities?" Andrena Lynn asked.

"There will be no immunities and no votes, Miss Lynn," Senior told her. "Your immunities will be your own wits. However, we will have challenges of sorts. Each day, we will have a contest, which will test your mastery of a different aspect of villainy. It may have to do with wealth management, ruthlessness, designing horrifying traps (here, he gave Kim and Ron a broad smile), or other aspects of the villainous art. Whoever places the last in each of these contests will be eliminated from the competition. Junior will choose between the last two contestants. Are there any other questions?"

"Very well," Senior informed them, after waiting for more questions. "There will be no competition tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a day of relaxation and lounging about the pool, even though the contest will be active. My servants will now show you and your entourages to your various rooms. The dining lair will serve three meals a day, and I will be in this room every morning and evening if you wish to speak to me. I wish you all luck."

The elderly man rose as his servants filed into the room and directed the various contestants and entourage members to follow them.

"A moment, Miss Possible," the host interrupted Kim, as she and Ron were about to follow one of the servants. "Your companion will be able to show you your quarters later. I would like to have a word with you, in private, if you do not mind. I assure you that you are my guest at this time and not my teenaged adversary."

"Ah, sure," Kim agreed, with a nod to Ron. Ron followed the servant out of the room while Senior led Kim to his den.

"Please be seated, Miss Possible," Senior requested, as he stepped behind his desk. Once the young woman was seated, Senior lowered himself into his own chair.

"I am not going to ask you why you decided to not compete in this contest," the elderly gentleman informed her. "But I must inform you that if you wish to compete, I will immediately include you among the contestants."

"So not going to happen," Kim informed him, keeping her temper in check.

"I did not think you would," Senior nodded. "But I wished you to know that the offer was still open. I understand from the celebrity press that you have…how do you Americans say…hooked up with Mr. Stoppable. Before I say anything else, let me offer my congratulations to both of you."

"Thank you, Senior," Kim said, with a sincere smile. _"He may be a villain, but you can never fault his manners."_

"Very well, Miss Possible, let me broach a rather sensitive subject, so that we understand each other. As you have undoubtedly noted, at least two of the contestants have outstanding arrest warrants, in various nations, against them."

"Lynn and Leon," Kim confirmed.

"The other two are suspects for some other incidents," Senior informed her. "I am not ignorant of your association with Global Justice and other law enforcement agencies, Miss Possible. I wish you to know, right now, that I will not tolerate you attempting to apprehend any of my guests while they remain upon my island."

"We have no intention of apprehending any of them," Kim assured him. "Although I wouldn't mind putting a smack down on Lynn. She brought a nasty drug into my school. A lot of people were hurt and I don't like smacking down my classmates."

"Such personal and legal actions have no place during this contest," Senior insisted. "You may inform any law enforcement officials you wish that these four young women are currently upon the island. You may inform such officials when they leave but please keep in mind that they are all under my protection for as long as they remain upon my island, or my aircraft." He pause a moment, "as are you, Miss Rockwaller and Mr. Stoppable."

"We won't smack anybody down," Kim agreed. "But we'll smack back if anybody makes a move on us or Bonnie."

"Which is your duty as her entourage," Senior agreed. "I must say that she has obtained formidable protection."

"Thank you, Senior. Did you arrange for Lynn and Leon to escape from prison?"

"Indeed I did, Miss Possible. My goal is to find my son a wife who is ruthless, intelligent and conniving. Miss Rockwaller certainly fits that description."

"That's true enough," Kim nodded, while wondering if it was the case. Bonnie had been acting differently lately. For one thing, Monique told her that the former cheerleader had been helpful and friendly during the fashion contest. For another, Bonnie had been very polite with her and Ron during the flight to the island. Upon leaving the plane, she had become haughty but she had already warned Team Possible that she would do so, in keeping with her image.

"Very well, Miss Possible," Senior's voice brought Kim out of her reverie. "I will have one of my servants show you to your quarters. You and Mr. Stoppable will be sharing a suite near Miss Rockwaller's accommodations."

"It is a two bedroom suite," Senior assured her, upon seeing her odd look. "I will not ask you and Mr. Stoppable to share a bed, even though you have admitted to a romantic attachment to each other. I am perfectly aware of your father's occupation. I do not wish him to arrange an accident, involving a satellite falling out of orbit and crashing onto my island."

"I don't think he would do that, Senior. He's much more fond of threatening Ron with various, super-orbital rockets."

"Your father is protective of you, Miss Possible, as I am with my son. However, I sense that you are weary and would rather not listen to an old man compare how a villain and a rocket scientist protect their offspring. I would suggest that you rest while you can. The next few days promise to be most interesting."

Kim had to admit that she was feeling tired. The long trip combined with jetlag made the idea of a very early night sound wonderful. One of the biggest problems with traveling so far east was that your body wanted to go to bed later and wake up later. For once, she and Ron had had time to prepare for the long trip. They had spent the last day practicing self-inflicted sleep depravation. As a result, she would be ready to sleep at the local, normal time and, in theory, be ready to wake up in the morning.

Arriving at her accommodations, which were across a hall from Bonnie's, she realized that while the suite that she and Ron would call home for the next few days wouldn't be as lavish as Bonnie's quarters, they were still Senior's guest quarters. As such, they were more comfortable than what she and Ron were used to at home. There were four rooms in total; two bedrooms, each with an attached bathroom, a living room/den and a combination kitchen dining room. All were furnished much like an upscale hotel.

Ron gave her the choice of rooms and she gave him a very odd look. She fully intended on sharing a room, they were on a mission after all and she felt more secure when she was with him. After a few moments, she realized that they would be better off in separate rooms. Their sleeping arrangements would be just a little too public and if word filtered back that she and Ron had shared a room, her father would probably go on a rampage.

Ron played the part of the gentleman, carrying her bags into her room for her. Kim changed into her sleepwear, sweat pants and an old crop top, before returning to the main room for a few minutes. She was shocked to find Bonnie, talking with Ron.

"Hey K," Bonnie greeted the redhead. The contestant was back to being friendly, now that the other contestants weren't observing the three. "I just came by to talk a little strategy."

"What do we have to do with you wining this disgusting contest?" Kim demanded.

"Aren't you here supporting Global Justice?" Bonnie asked. "Aren't you here to help me win this contest? I know that you'd never stoop to something as low as what I'm doing, but aren't you here to help me win it?"

"We're here to keep you safe," Kim snarled back but after a moment's thought, agreed. "We might as well help you win."

"Okay, I think we start at breakfast time," Bonnie told them.

"Uh, Bon-Bon," Ron interrupted. "The guys who showed me the room explained things to me. Senior's kitchen will serve three feasts a day for the contestants. The entourages aren't welcome to dine there. We have to make do with our kitchen. Granted, it's a very well stocked kitchen, but we can't help you at the breakfast feast."

"You don't need to," Bonnie grinned back. "Here's what I was thinking…"

* * *

As Bonnie Rockwaller sat in the Mediterranean and plotted tactics with Team Possible, a small group of guests was assembling for a wedding halfway around the world. The church was small and most of the guests were not the law-abiding type. In a small room at the back of the church, the bride waited out her last moments of being single.

"Quit fidgeting so much," Julia told Shego. "You look fine, but you won't for very much longer if you don't relax."

"I never thought I'd be a nervous bride," Shego grumbled. She looked at Maria and felt a momentary pang of sadness that she didn't have a truly close friend to be with her this day. Julia worked for the same smuggling band that employed Shego and Fiske and was more of a respected colleague than a real friend. Still, at least she was on friendly terms, so she had accepted the mercenary's request to keep her company before the ceremony.

One of the few regrets that Shego had was that she wasn't very good at making friends. Most of the time, this shortcoming wasn't much of a hindrance but today was one of the few exceptions. Monty had the same shortcoming and because of this, neither would have anyone standing with them at the front of the sanctuary today. The elderly man who owned the smuggling ring; a curious mixture of ruthless thug and kindly father figure, would give the bride away.

Shego considered her reflection in the small room's mirror. Necessity had dictated that the couple keep their wedding low key, but that hadn't prevented them from splurging on the dress. Shego had elected to wear a pale green wedding dress that was conservative in its coverage but flattered her figure. Monty's eyes were sure to bug out when he saw her step into the sanctuary.

"It won't be long now," Julia told her, opening the door a crack and peeking out. "Your future husband just stepped in and the priest is in place. The music will start at any ti…"

The girl stammered into silence when the door flew open, revealing a rather large man's outline.

"You didn't think I'd just let you go through with this, did you Shego?" A familiar voice asked.

Lord Montgomery Fiske stood at the front of the sanctuary, trying to look composed as he awaited Shego's entrance. He had heard a slight disturbance from where his soon-to-be bride would make her entrance but he wasn't overly concerned. After all, there had been no blasts of plasma or language that would make an angry sailor blush. While he knew that both he and Shego had enemies that would relish destroying this day for them, he believed that they had kept quiet enough that nobody would come looking for him. He cursed himself again for not wearing a watch, wishing that the ceremony would just start. He glanced towards the priest, who was observing him with poorly concealed humor. Clearly, Fiske wasn't acting much different than any other nervous groom.

Finally, at the appointed time, the piano broke into the bridal march and the sanctuary's rear doors flew open. A heartbeat later, Fiske's eyes flew open almost as wide.

Shego was stunning of course, she always was. Although Fiske was used to seeing her in her green and black harlequin jumpsuit, the few times she had chosen a more feminine wardrobe had made a strong impression upon him. However, it wasn't her attire, or the way it complimented her, that left the disgraced nobleman speechless.

It was the fact that Drew Lipsky was escorting her down the aisle.

Fiske now noticed his elderly employer, who had agreed to escort Shego, smiling at him from the rear pew. Clearly, the old man realized that it was much more appropriate for the former Dr. Drakken to escort the green-hued mercenary on this day. In a strange way, it took forever for Drew to escort his former employee to her soon-to-be husband and it took only a moment.

"Take care of her, Monty," Drew begged of his former colleague. "Like we discussed in Casablanca."

"For the rest of my life," Fiske vowed, with none of his usual mocking tone. The blue-skinned man placed Shego's hand firmly on Fiske's arm and took his seat on one of the front pews.

Fiske remembered very little of the ceremony, which seemed to be a tradition among grooms. Almost before he realized it, the two had exchanged vows and rings, leaving him to face the uncomfortable prospect of kissing her in front of an audience. It wasn't that he minded kissing Shego but that he really didn't know how much enthusiasm to put into it. If he were to make the display quick and professional, everyone present would think that he was intimidated by the public setting. On the other hand, if he were to fully demonstrate his affection he would probably trigger a round of catcalls and bawdy applause.

Montgomery Fiske didn't have a great deal of dignity, so he defended what little he had, tenaciously.

Fortunately for him, Shego took command of the situation. His new bride pulled his face down to hers and latched her mouth onto his, reveling in the round of enthusiastic applause that echoed throughout the sanctuary. She released him after almost a minute, then snickered evilly as she led her now dazed husband out of the sanctuary and to their reception.

The wedding ceremony itself had been fairly short and solemn. The reception was the polar opposite. Fiske had long been of the opinion that his new associates, who were strangely devout despite living outside the law, were perfectly capable of partying their rivals to death. A lively band set up and played from one corner of the large room while several tables groaned under the weight of good food and drink. Drew Lipsky led Shego out onto the floor for the first dance. As tradition dictated, Fiske stepped out onto the floor partway through the dance and Lipsky bowed out with an affectionate pat on the younger man's shoulder. Shortly after the first dance, Drew informed the newlyweds that he had to leave. Shego and Fiske followed him to the entryway, where they could speak with some privacy.

"I truly appreciate you attending this event," Fiske told the older man. "How did you know that it was taking place?"

"Dr. Director clued me in," Drew informed him. "To be more exact, she ordered me down here an told me what was going on while I was still in flight. I didn't have time to get a present for the two of you."

"You being here is good enough," Shego told him. "Since it let's me do this." The woman stepped up to her former employer and reached her arms up as if to embrace him…

Then slapped him, hard across the face, forcing him to stagger back against the wall behind him.

"THAT'S for not telling my how to get by my infertility," she snapped. Then she hauled him to his feet, pulled his head down to her level and gently kissed the cheek she had just slapped.

"And that's for telling Monty," she told him, using a much kinder tone of voice.

"That reminds me," Drew told them, fumbling in his tuxedo pocket. "Well, actually that reminded me that I need to see a dentist but it also reminded me that I have a present for you, of sorts." Drew produced a piece of paper with a name, telephone number and email address neatly written upon it.

"This is contact information for the doctor who told me the…potential…method of sidestepping your infertility," Drew told the couple. "He has helped infertile couples before. Since he works on our side of the law, I'm sure he'll work with you."

"A simple piece of paper, but a priceless gift," Fiske commented. "Thank you, Dr. Drakken."

"I go by Mr. Lipsky now," Drew corrected the man he considered a sort of son-in-law. "I could either give you this information or a songbird and trust me, you don't want one of those."

"Why not?" Shego asked. "I mean, I've never exactly liked the little, feathered pests but I don't exactly…Drew, are you doing something with songbirds?"

"It's a long story," Drew smirked back, then his voice became very somber. "I don't know when I'll be able to see you again and I don't think Dr. Director will let me keep in touch. I hope you're successful and I hope I can come see if you are. Now, I really have to be going. Please, have a long and happy life together."

Without another word, the former Dr. Drakken left the building and returned to his aircraft to face a long, lonely flight back to his office.

* * *

"I don't think this is a good idea, Little Jack," Robbie told him. Robbie, Little Jack and Smoke were sitting in their boardroom, waiting for Bigfoot's latest delivery.

"What choice do we have?" Little Jack demanded. "Do you think that Bigfoot's gonna just let us walk away, ever? Not a chance! Either we do something about it or we're his slaves until he decides to off us!"

"Why now?" Smoke asked. "Why not wait a bit and find out what's goin' on? I don't want to mess with Bigfoot and the money's been coming in really well."

"Hey, I'm not doing anything that he'll figure out," Little Jack told his friends. "All I want to do is put this bug on the van so we can figure out where Bigfoot has the smack."

"Why?" Smoke demanded.

"Cause he might store the medicine there!" Little Jack snapped back. "Remember what happened when we tried to go without the stuff?"

The other two men flinched. They didn't really understand what Bigfoot had done to them, but they had learned the hard way that if they didn't inject themselves with the medicine that the giant provided, they would experience crippling agony.

"Okay, I'm not agreeing with you, but what good do you think this will do?" Robbie asked.

"Okay, Bigfoot has us cold because he only gives us enough medicine for a single day, each day," Little Jack explained. "We don't dare do anything, since all Bigfoot has to do is not give us our medicine and we're goners!"

"I'm no idiot!" Smoke snapped. "I know all this. What good will it do if you track down where the smack and the medicine comes from?"

"What if Bigfoot has a couple of days worth of medicine stored there?" Little Jack snarled right back. "Maybe we could take it to a hospital and they could help us. We might be able to figure out who's selling the stuff to Bigfoot."

"What good will that do?" Smoke asked, now a great deal more respectfully.

"We might be able to cut a deal," Little Jack told him. Maybe get a lot of the medicine, maybe even get a cure."

"What if Bigfoot finds out what you're doing?" Robbie demanded. "All he'll have to do is give us water instead of the medicine tomorrow! We'll all be dead before anyone will be able to help us!"

"Hey, I'm not gonna actually do anything!" Little Jack insisted. "All I'm gonna do is figure out where he's working from."

"But what if you get caught?" Smoke snapped at him. "What happens to all of us?"

"What happens if he decides to find new distribution?" Little Jack snapped back. "He doesn't have to _do_ anything to take us out, all he has to do is _quit_ giving us that acid stuff. If we know where he's working from, at least we'll be able to do something! If nothing else, we can arrange for the rest of the Boyz to roll him if we come up dead!"

Seeing that his friends were not quite convinced, Little Jack played is final card. "What will you do if that van doesn't show up in the next hour?" He demanded. "The only thing we'll be able to do is just lie down and die. What will you do, Robbie, if Bigfoot decides that your little brother will be the next head of distribution and he needs the same guarantee on him that he has on us?"

Smoke and Robbie looked at each other for several minutes before Robbie broke the silence.

"Okay," he said. "Plant that bug on the van, I'll distract the driver. You're right, he's got us cold. We've got to do something or else we're just a bunch of sheep waiting to be slaughtered."

"BUT!" Smoke interjected. "We all agree before we do anything more than find out where he's working from."

"Deal!" Little Jack agreed.

* * *

_A/N: Yet another chapter in the books. Thanks again to everyone who is reading this tale. Big thanks to those of you who have reviewed or sent suggestions and/or comments via PM. _

_As always, fondest thanks to Joe Stoppinghem, for his beta services._

_Unitl my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	7. The Contest, Day One

Chapter 7: The Contest, Day One.

On the first day of the contest, Kim stepped out of her morning shower and received a major shock. Bonnie was sitting at the table in Team Possible's quarters and chatting with Ron, who was busy in the kitchen. For a few minutes, the redhead simply stood watching the improbable scene of Bonnie and Ron indulging in a friendly conversation. Kim's stomach curtailed her observation, when the smells coming from the kitchen prompted it to rumble. Kim added a second improbable item to the tableau in front of her; she willingly took a seat next to Bonnie.

"Morning, KP," Ron greeted her, while setting a full plate in front of her.

"Morning, Ron," Kim smiled at her PF. Kim couldn't say any more as her mouth was occupied with eating the food. As she ate, she noticed that Bonnie was finishing up a Ron breakfast, as well.

"I thought you had breakfast with the other contestants this morning," Kim pointed out between bites.

"Part of my image," Bonnie replied. "I'll fuel up here, so I can spend the time charming Junior, while the other girls are stuffing their faces. Junior's too polite to eat while someone's talking to him, so that will set me up perfectly for later this morning."

"What happens later this morning?" Kim asked, after taking another bite.

"I make use of your boyfriends talents," Bonnie informed her.

"I'll finish them while you do your charming at the contestants' breakfast, Bon-Bon," Ron assured her.

"What's this?" Kim asked.

"Just a little flirting enhancement," Bonnie told her. "Junior really loves these little fruit fritters that Ron's making and I'm going to keep him too busy talking at breakfast to eat much."

"I still don't understand," Kim admitted.

"The way to a man's heart, and all that," Bonnie told her. "We have about fifteen minutes before we make our appearance at the contestants' breakfast."

"Uh, that's for you, not me," Kim pointed out.

"But as my guardian-slash-entourage, I need you along," Bonnie told her. "Trust me Kim, this is all part of the plan. Watch me and you just might learn a few ways to drive poor Ron crazy."

"I think I do that well enough already," Kim informed her formal rival.

"Oh, you can never have him too wrapped around your finger," Bonnie giggled. "Anyway, it's just about time to set the competition on its heels."

Kim left her PF with a quick kiss and accompanied Bonnie toward the central portion of the Seniors' lair. On the way, the two girls had a chance to talk.

"Okay, I'm going to go back into Queen B mode once we get with the others," Bonnie informed the redhead. "So don't think I'm relapsing."

"Are you sure it's relapsing?" Kim quipped.

"Pretty much," Bonnie told her, with no trace of her usual haughtiness. "Rehab and facing prison make you really look at yourself. I spent years putting everyone down and what did it get me? It drove me to do some really stupid things."

"So no more Queen B?" Kim asked.

"I can't say I'm not going to have Queen B moments, but I'll try to keep them under control. Here we are, K, watch and learn."

Bonnie strutted boldly into the dining lair, where Senior and Junior were seated at the head of a large table. The two hosts, exhibiting impeccable manners, wouldn't dine until their guests arrived. To the side of the dining table, another table groaned under a large buffet's weight. While some of the smells made Kim's mouth water, she wasn't hungry. Ron's breakfast had taken care of her appetite. Instead of drooling over the feast denied her, Kim observed her counterparts as they arrived, escorting their contestants.

The first of Bonnie's competitors to arrive was Fraulein Dementor, accompanied by one of Professor Dementor's burly henchmen. Kim hadn't known that Dementor had a daughter. The contestant was perhaps a year or two younger than the redheaded heroine was and several inches taller. Trudy Dementor was a rather curvy blonde and would have been very attractive, if not for the perpetual sneer on her face. The girl looked at Kim and elevated her nose in a very Bonnie-ish gesture, before picking up a plate and making her way along the buffet. Her guardian, who looked somewhat familiar to Kim, favored the redhead with a respectful half-bow, half-nod before taking his place along the side of the room, as far away from Kim as manners would allow.

Trudy Dementor was half finished filling her plate (and giving Bonnie some venomous glares) when Andrena Lynn arrived. A guard who looked, at least to Kim, like a gangster's hired muscle wearing a decent suit accompanied the faux stuntwoman. The guard spent a few heartbeats staring at the buffet with undisguised longing before shuffling to the side of the room, semi-joining Kim and Dementor's guard. Lynn simply picked up a plate and dug into the buffet, sharing some small talk with the attending chefs.

The mystery girl, Elly, showed up shortly after Lynn. A burly man, who looked like the stereotypical, European bodyguard, trailed a step behind her. Once the girl was in the living lair, the guard joined Kim and the other two attendants. Although his expression never changed, he favored his counterparts with a single, respectful nod before planting his back against the wall and scanning the room. Kim didn't have much time to contemplate the mystery girl's identity before Camille Leon arrived.

It was actually odd to see the criminal socialite without a series of flashbulbs illuminating her. Still, she preened and posed as if she were on a red carpet somewhere. Strangely, no guard accompanied her as she entered the Dining Lair and put a few tidbits on her plate. Kim didn't understand how the girl could eat so little. Kim could, at times, rival Ron when it came to pouring food down her gullet. Of course, the heroine burned off tremendous amounts of energy but still, Leon's morphing had to take some energy, didn't it?

"Ah, my most beautiful and devious guests," Senior announced, rising to his feet and interrupting Kim's musings. "It gives me great pleasure to announce that, as of this moment, the competition has begun. The winner will gain my son's hand in marriage, and considerable influence over my considerable empire. Yet, at this moment, we find ourselves in a pleasant room with wonderful food around us. Why don't we enjoy a pleasant meal, and pleasant company, before the competition becomes unpleasant? Enjoy yourselves."

With that, the elderly man returned to his seat, where a servant quickly served him. Senior dug in with obvious relish while Junior found himself unable to serve himself. Bonnie had engaged him in a non-stop conversation and the would-be pop star's manners wouldn't allow him to break off the conversation long enough to acquire his breakfast.

"Your client has grabbed the high ground, so to speak," Kim turned slightly, to realize that Elly's bodyguard had murmured the statement out of the corner of her mouth. "I won't ask what her plan is, but I must complement her on getting the early start."

"Just what is your client's claim to fame, or infame, as the sitch may be?" Kim asked him.

"Now, Miss Possible," he chided, never ceasing his constant scanning of the room. "That would be giving away information to no gain. Surely you don't think I'd do that?"

"I don't see any harm," Kim retorted. "But what would you accept in return?"

"How about your take on the other competitors?" The guard proposed. "Give me your…as you Americans say…scouting report and I'll tell you what I'm prepared to say about my client."

"Okay," Kim whispered back, deciding that the guard had probably guessed what she was about to say. "Since I don't know anything about your client, I'll say that I expect the most trouble from Lynn and Leon."

"Lynn isn't very subtle," Kim continued, ignoring a glare from the faux stuntwoman's guard. "So I expect her to either flirt really hard or be obvious when she tries to put down the other girls. With Leon, I expect her to be sneaky, maybe even try to infiltrate the other competitors' teams. I don't know anything about Dementor but, based on her father, I'll expect her to try something technology driven. Now, you look like too much of a gentleman to try to get me to tell you what my client has up her sleeve."

"Fair enough," the man favored her with a quick nod. "I'll tell you this much. My client's father owns a shipping interest, based in the Baltic. While his legitimate profits have made him fairly wealthy, he supplements his income by being somewhat inventive, unloading his cargo at coves and ports that don't necessarily have Customs Officials present."

"He smuggles," Kim concluded.

"That's a rather harsh term," the guard allowed himself a ghost of a smile. "He prefers to think of it as being considerate. He doesn't…import…any illegal items but the goods he moves are less expensive to the consumer and he doesn't add to the Customs Officials' workloads."

"So he put his daughter into this contest to merge two illegal empires?" Kim asked. "Sort of using his own flesh and blood as a bargaining asset?"

"It's not exactly like that," the man replied. "He's actually concerned about her safety. His activities have put him into contact with some rather unsavory characters, which want him to transport more profitable and dangerous cargoes. He is concerned that they will attempt to use her safety as leverage. While he is wealthy, he isn't wealthy enough to hire the constant protection he wants."

"I don't imagine you work cheap," Kim commented.

"I don't," he answered. "So he can only maintain my services for a certain number of months. You may find this hard to believe, Miss Possible, but her father wants her to be happy. Elly is actually very capable at masking illegal but harmless activities as legitimate business. If she wins this contest, she will wind up doing something she honestly enjoys doing, Senior will gain a valuable administrator and his vast wealth and security will keep her safe. She has also expressed a certain admiration for Junior's appearance, so she stands a good chance of being happy in that regard, as well."

"Well, that's interesting," Kim conceded. "Assuming I can trust you."

"Of course you can't," the guard replied, again with a ghost of a smile. "This is an underhanded contest, hosted by a villain, after all. Still, I don't want to see my client hurt. Despite the fact that she's a criminal administrator, she's a sweet kid underneath it all."

"If I had a dollar for every time I heard that one," Kim grumbled, making a mental note to have Wade check on Elly.

Kim found herself amused by the rest of the meal. Bonnie was, indeed, the leading candidate at this moment. Kim's former rival, filled up by a Ron Stoppable breakfast, was able to ignore the feast and concentrate on flirting with Junior. While Junior managed to nibble a little food, it was no where near enough for a young man with his bulk. Senior watched Bonnie's game with ill-concealed humor. Finally, Senior rose, to his feet.

"I must announce that this, the first feast in our competition, is over," the old man announced. "How you lovely, young villainesses choose to proceed is up to you. However, I will announce that Junior will be lounging by the pool, for the remainder of the morning, in a half-hour's time. Come Junior, let us discuss some business while your devious guests contemplate their next moves."

"But father…" Junior protested, gazing at the buffet with naked longing.

"No, my son, we have important things to discuss and we must have you at the pool in a half hour. Come along!"

"K, have Ron see about making use of Senior's powerboat this afternoon," Bonnie instructed Kim. The brunette made no effort to lower her voice. "I think I'd like to invite Junior to waterski and snorkel with me."

"I…" Kim stammered for a moment, then remembered the part she was playing. "Of course," she assured the brunette, with a polite nod. "Shall I escort you back to your quarters?"

"Of course," Bonnie sniffed. "I don't want to be alone with the riff raff about."

Lynn's guard bristled at the comment, but Elly's guard offered a faint smirk. Kim fell in step behind Bonnie as she strutted out of the Dining Lair and towards the high-profile guest quarters.

"Thanks for not tearing my head off," Bonnie murmured to Kim, as soon as the two were safely away from the rest of the contestants.

"Okay, what's the plan?" Kim asked. "You wanted the other guards to hear that remark about the powerboat."

"Yep," Bonnie smirked. "I'll let you in on the plan, if it works. I still want one of you make the request, since it will be more in character if I have one of my attendants take care of that detail. For now, let's meet up with Ron. I think I want him to accompany me to the pool."

"Any reason?" Kim asked.

"Yeah, actually," Bonnie snickered. "I know that Junior still thinks that you're his blue fox. I don't need more competition. Feel free to watch from the sidelines, K. You just might learn something."

"I'm not interested in learning how to play guys," Kim informed her. "I'm with Ron and I have no intention of letting him go."

"So _play him_," Bonnie suggested. "He might enjoy the attention."

Before Kim could come up with a reply, the two young women had reached Kim's and Ron's quarters. As soon as they opened the door, a delectable smell hit them with an almost physical force.

"If those things taste even half as good as they smell, my plan will work perfectly," Bonnie commented.

"I made a few extra, just so you can judge," the blonde boy informed the two girls.

"I'd love to, but I have to get ready," Bonnie told him. "You'll be my escort for the poolside lounging session. Pack them up and pick me up in twenty minutes. Kim, please arrange for the powerboat. With any luck, we'll be able to eliminate one of the competitors yet today."

Bonnie hurried across the hall, to her own suite, leaving Kim and Ron to just stare at each other.

"Is it just me," Ron asked with a puzzled expression and handing Kim one of the pastries. "Or is Bon-Bon managing to be nice and bossy at the same time."

"It isn't just you," Kim told him, then moaned in delight as she took a bite from the pastry. "I don't know what she's up to, but I think it's going to be good. Now, go put on something pool-oriented and get ready to escort our contestant."

Kim picked up the telephone and requested a powerboat for the afternoon.

Half an hour later, Kim stood on Senior's wall, looking over the pool area. Lynn and Elly were already there when Bonnie strutted towards one of the pool chairs. Ron, dressed in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, followed her, laden with her pool accessories. Bonnie was back in Queen B mode, haughtily commanding Ron to set up her umbrella and provide her with a pitcher of iced tea. Leon and Dementor arrived while the flustered, blonde boy arranged for Bonnie's comfort. Finally, Bonnie disdainfully dismissed Ron. Kim almost laughed out loud as she watched the contestants arranging themselves, striking their most alluring poses. The redhead was forced to growl a little bit, however, as Ron struggled to keep his eyes strictly where they belonged as he left the pool area.

Ron had been gone for about fifteen minutes (and Kim decided that he'd _**better**_ be trying to find her) when Junior made his appearance. She had to admit that Junior was some quality eye-candy, and felt a moment of intense pride that she had managed to look past such shallow aspects and learn to appreciate Ron. Down below, the girls began to preen a bit, trying to catch Junior's attention. It was then that Bonnie unleashed her secret weapon.

As Ron joined Kim on the wall, Bonnie removed the cover from the plate of pastries that Ron had prepared. Now, Kim realized why Bonnie had selected the chair she had, it was on the upwind side of the pool. The scent from the pastries wafted over the pool, immediately catching the underfed Junior's attention. The spoiled rich boy suddenly became oblivious to the pretty, scantily clad feminine forms between him and Bonnie, and closed in on the pastries with single-minded determination. The Kimmunicator had a small, parabolic microphone, which Kim oriented upon Bonnie and Junior.

"…oh he means well, but he doesn't seem to understand that I don't like to snack while I'm at the pool," Bonnie was explaining to Junior, as he stared, wide-eyed, at the snacks. "Sometimes he acts more like my mother than my personal assistant."

"So…you…do…not…really…want…these…heavenly…treats?" Junior stammered, never taking his eyes from the plate.

"Oh, they're tasty enough," Bonnie shrugged. "If you're into things like a crisp crust that melts in your mouth, giving way to a perfectly sweetened, fruity filling." (Junior wiped a bit of drool away from his chin) "But I'm not really hungry. Would you be so kind to join me and eat a few of these? Ron feels so put out when I don't eat at least one."

"It…would…be…my…pleasure…"Junior stammered, taking a seat next to Bonnie. Rather than hand the young man the plate of pastries, however, Bonnie picked one up and gently placed it in Junior's mouth.

"Oh! She's good," Ron commented, observing how the other girls were absolutely stewing at how Bonnie had managed to gain the upper hand.

"That she is," Kim agreed, while reflecting that Bonnie had told her that she might learn something. The redhead gave Ron a sidelong glance, "You know Ron, I didn't get a chance to put on any sunscreen before taking up this post."

"Worried about sunburn?" Ron asked.

"And I have some sunscreen in my bag," she finished for him. "Could you take care of my back while I keep an eye on Bonnie?"

Ron went to work, peeling up the back of Kim's shirt so that he could apply the lotion to her back. Down at the pool, Kim swore she saw Bonnie glance up at the wall and wink at her. Soon, Bonnie used the same 'I forgot to put on sunscreen' line on Junior, prompting the young man to slather the bikini-clad brunette. Checking out the rest of the pool, Kim could se that the other contestants were glaring at Bonnie. By appealing to Junior's stomach, the former cheerleader had seized the initiative in this contest.

"I wonder what she has in mind," Ron murmured.

"I think it's obvious," Kim answered.

"I don't think so," Ron retorted. "She isn't doing anything to eliminate her rivals. Sure, she has Junior's attention right now, but we know how distractible he is." Ron paused a moment, "did I just say that?"

"I get the idea," Kim snickered. She thought for a few moments. "Bonnie's pushing the competitors," she declared. "She's trying to get one of them to do something rash. I don't know Dementor or Elly, but Lynn isn't going to just sit back and watch Bonnie push her advantage."

"Now I get it," Ron nodded. "Bonnie's hoping that one of the other girls will do something stupid, like an overt attack on her."

"And get eliminated," Kim concluded. "We're going to have to stick really close to her whenever the contestants aren't all assembled. By the way, that doesn't give you a free pass to ogle all of the contestants."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw the way you were staring at the girls."

"I was not!"

Kim grinned, making sure Ron couldn't see her expression, while she continued to tease him. The morning passed with Bonnie continuing to flirt with Junior, while the other girls continued to stew. Junior spent some time talking with his other guests but he always seemed to find his way back to Bonnie and her plate of pastries. Just before noon, Bonnie, speaking in a loud voice, asked Junior if he would like to waterski during the afternoon. Junior, mesmerized both by her flirting and her snackage, agreed. Shortly after this, Senior appeared at the pool and announced that lunch was being served.

Kim and Ron split up; Ron to prepare lunch for the two of them and Kim to attend Bonnie during the noon meal. Team Possible realized that since Bonnie had taken the lead in this little contest, she had set herself up as the number one target. As such, Kim and Ron were determined to keep her in sight at all times. To Kim's surprise, Bonnie didn't repeat her performance from this morning.

"Tell Ron not to fight it if someone tries to hijack the power boat this afternoon," Bonnie whispered to Kim, as they stepped into the Dining Lair.

"What are you up to?" Kim demanded.

"Let's just say that I'm going to run my mouth about how wonderful it will be to have Junior all to myself, out on the boat," Bonnie answered.

"I still don't get it," Kim confessed.

"I hope it works out, so I can gloat about it tonight," Bonnie snickered. "Did you watch me with Junior this morning."

"I did," Kim confessed. "That was pretty smooth."

"Sort of like your sunblock thing with Ron?" Bonnie smirked.

"Hey! I burn easily, even through a mission shirt!"

"No doubt," Bonnie grinned back. "Sort of killing two birds with one stone?"

"Okay, I was flirting," Kim confessed. "But I was able to keep an eye on you because of it."

"Hope you remembered what you learned," Bonnie told her. "Because if you remember that you can get to Ron through his stomach, he won't have a chance."

Kim didn't really have a response to that one, so she just watched Bonnie strut into the Dining Lair and take her seat. Leon had managed to secure a spot next to Junior, but the prize's eyes were clearly three chairs down the table, on Bonnie. Halfway through the meal, Ron returned, freeing Kim up to return to their quarters and grab a bite to eat. Ron had left her with a sandwich and a bowl of soup, which she quickly devoured. She returned to the Dining Lair just as the meal was breaking up.

"K, you'll be with me this afternoon," Bonnie commanded. "Ron, go see if the powerboat is ready. I think some exclusive time, with Junior away from the rest of these…girls," she snorted out the term. "Will be just about enough to ice this little competition away."

Kim noticed the icy glares from the other girls as Ron scrambled to obey his instructions. Kim accompanied Bonnie to the docks, where Junior joined them. Kim noted that although Elly and Dementor accompanied them, Lynn and Leon were nowhere to be seen. The other two girls visibly bristled as Bonnie gushed to Junior about how much fun they would have skiing and snorkeling. Bonnie's posturing was interrupted when Ron charged onto the dock.

"KP, Bonnie, you're okay!" He gasped.

"I'm well aware of the fact, Stoppable," Bonnie sneered back.

"Ron, what happened?" Kim demanded, ignoring the brunette and leaving the edge of the dock to rush to her friend.

"You…you were just down next to the docks," Ron stammered, confused. "You said that there was a problem with Bonnie and that you needed me to help you. You turned and ran and I couldn't keep up. You turned a corner but when I got there, the only one there was a very confused custodian."

"I've been here all along," Kim protested.

"What about the powerboat?" Bonnie demanded.

"The what?" Kim and Ron asked, together.

"The powerboat that you were supposed to be getting ready, so that I would be able to ski and snorkel with Junior," Bonnie pointed out in an icy tone.

Kim was just about to give Bonnie a pointed lecture about priorities when the sound of an approaching speedboat interrupted her. Kim, Ron and Bonnie looked up just in time to see the boat, piloted by Adrena Lynn, pull up next to the dock. Junior quickly jumped in.

"I know that skiing and snorkeling was your idea, Bonnie Rockwaller," the young man called to the brunette. "But the boat is here now and I wish to do these things. They sound like so much fun!"

Lynn gunned the engine, bringing the boat up onto a plane and away from the dock, smirking at Bonnie the entire way. After a few moments of pouting, Bonnie smiled broadly. It was the nasty smile that Kim and Ron remembered so well from high school.

"Perfect," Bonnie commented, then approached Senior, who was watching the activities from the shade of his boathouse, with a broad smile.

"Senior, Senior, Senior?" Bonnie asked the old man, with a surprisingly respectful tone. "Did I understand the rules correctly yesterday?"

"Indeed you did, Miss Rockwaller," Senior nodded. "And I must complement you on your deviousness."

"Okay, you lost me," Ron admitted.

"Miss Lynn hijacked the boat that Miss Rockwaller had you prepare, Mr. Stoppable," Senior explained. "But what she did not realize was that Miss Rockwaller intended for this to occur. By jumping onto the boat and driving off, she has left my shores and eliminated herself from the contest. Well done, Miss Rockwaller, well done indeed."

Kim and Ron could only stand, open-mouthed, as Bonnie beamed under the compliment.

* * *

The basketball arched gracefully into the air, towards the hoop…and flew cleanly over the backboard. Felix Renton cursed under his breath and jogged across the court to retrieve the ball. Fortunately, this court in Middleton Park, as well as being deserted, also had a fence. As such, he didn't have to chase the ball across half the park to get it back. Gritting his teeth in determination, he set himself on the freethrow line and tried again.

Flex the knees slightly and spring up while tossing the ball. He had done this hundreds of times, from this very line, without the benefit of working knees. He understood the concept perfectly; the knees provided extra power to the shot so that the arms could be used to guide the ball.

Unfortunately for him, theory and practice were two very different things. For a young man who had gained proficiency without using his knees, learning to do this properly was going to take endless repetitions. Lining up his shot, Felix tried again.

This time the basketball bounced off the front of the hoop, forcing him to scramble to intercept it before it flew past him and forced him to chase it to the other end of the court. Felix returned to the freethrow line and set up again, only to heave a massive sigh, set the basketball down and sit on it. Basketball wasn't what was bothering him. For the first time that he could remember, Felix Renton was lonely.

Somehow, it had been easier before he moved to Middleton. Sure, he had had some casual friends back then, but nothing like the close friendships he had developed here. It had started with Ron, the first person who didn't see the chair as much of anything, even thinking that it would give him greater tolerance on the spinny rides at the fair. Ron had become the closest friend he had ever had. By extension, he had become friends with Kim and Monique. Then Oscar and Cindy had entered the mix.

Now, Monique was on some sort of tour, after wining the young designers' contest for Club Banana. She would be off to some fashion school back east this fall. Kim, Ron and Rufus were off on some mission that they weren't able to talk about before leaving. Oscar was working overtime, trying to earn as much money as he could before college started. Cindy was serving a sort of internship, following that Warren guy around as he chased news stories. Even the more peripheral friends weren't available. Wade was still uneasy about leaving his house and the tweebs were off at some rocket camp somewhere. Felix smiled bitterly, he had made close friends over the last year and a half, only to feel intensely lonely when they were all somewhere else. Felix heaved another sigh and admitted the problem to himself; he missed Yori.

Felix had long thought that he was simply too intelligent to become a love-struck fool. He was both disgusted and delighted to find out that he wasn't. He had dated before, but it was never anything serious. Felix did not accept 'pity dates' just like he didn't put up with 'pity friends'. He had spent long years not only denying his handicap but defying it as well. While he would hang with people who took pity on 'the cripple', he didn't develop close friendships, or romances with them.

Of course, he had never had what he considered to be a girlfriend before Yori. Felix wasn't naïve, he understood that young men and women developed certain urges towards one another. He had acknowledged that a lot of the girls in Middleton High were pretty. Even though he liked to look at a lot of the girls, he had never really thought much of it. Put bluntly, he had fallen hard for his first real crush and she had fallen hard for him.

The only problem was that she was now several thousand miles away from him and he didn't have the slightest idea when he would see her again. While he was more than willing to put off any romantic inclinations until he could hook up with her again, he had to wonder about her. Yori was bright, beautiful and friendly. Would she be content to wait for him and would it be right for him to expect her to do so? The simple fact remained that despite Felix's intelligence he had absolutely no relationship experience. However, he did understand one thing: He was accomplishing absolutely nothing by just sitting here.

Felix got back to his feet and dribbled the ball a few times before shooting again. He couldn't do much about the Yori situation but he could try to make sure that he didn't make a complete fool out of himself the next time he shot some hoops with Ron, Kim, Oscar or Monique. He lined up carefully, flexed his knees slightly and launched the ball completely over the backboard again. This time, however, it only bounced a short distance before Monique Jenkins caught the ball.

"I heard you were hanging out around here, wheels," the girl told him, tossing the ball back his way. Felix took no offense at her keeping the nickname; it was part of who she was.

"What's up, Monique?" He asked, taking another shot. "When did you get back from your tour?" This time, the shot bounced off of the backboard and ricocheted off of the hoop. Felix caught the ball and flipped it to his companion.

"A couple of hours ago," she answered, taking a shot. The basketball bounced off of the backboard in into the net.

"I thought you'd be looking up Matt," Felix commented, as the girl recovered the ball and flipped it back to him.

"Hey, I heard you were out shooting baskets and looking a little down," Monique informed Felix as he took another shot, this time swishing the ball through the hoop. "Nice shot."

"Not really," Fexil confessed. "I was trying to bounce it off the backboard. So how did you hear that I was feeling down?"

"The high school grapevine is still kind of working, even after graduation. A couple of people see you, they talk, they talk to me at Club Banana and I put a few things together." Monique caught the ball that Felix tossed her way and shot again, this time missing to the left.

"What kind of things did you put together?" Felix asked, scrambling to catch up to the basketball. He wasn't in position to shoot, so he tossed it back to Monique.

"Well," Monique said, as she sunk another basket. "There's the fact that your girlfriend went back to Japan. That's gotta make a guy feel at least a little down. Most of your close friends are either out of the state or tied up with other commitments and you just finished a summer school tutoring stint. Finally, you just went through a major life change. I figured that all of that would have to add up to a melancholy valedictorian."

"You got that right," Felix grumbled. He shot a lay up, rebounded the basketball and threw a bounce pass to Monique. "But that still doesn't explain why you're hanging with me instead of celebrating with Mat." Felix paused for a moment. "By the way, congratulations. I don't know anything about fashion but that must have been a rough competition."

"Thanks, wheels. Now, as for why I haven't looked up Mat. I figured that you could use a friendly ear your own age."

"And you don't think Mat's going to be a little hurt about this?" Felix prompted.

"No way!" Monique told him, leading the way to a bench. "Felix, you haven't done the boyfriend-girlfriend thing very much, have you?"

"Never before in my life."

"Okay, here's some news from someone who's been around the block a couple of times. Boyfriends and girlfriends come and go, but good friends are something you want to keep with you forever. Now, I'll be calling Mat sometime tomorrow and we'll get together as soon as his dad will give him a break from his chores, but right now, I have a good friend who looks like he could use a friend."

"You know, Mo, you really scare me sometimes. You're right, but you scare me," Felix admitted, then smiled at his friends. He looked at Monique for a short time. The two had flirted with each other in the past, mainly because their close friendship with Kim and Ron meant that they spent a lot of time together. Somehow, by unspoken agreement, they had realized that they just wouldn't click when it came to the dating thing.

"So, what's been happening with you while I've been out wowing the fashion world?"

The two friends talked and shot baskets late into the night.

* * *

_A/N: Yet another chapter down, as well as the first contestant. Stay tuned to see who falls next. _

_Thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for his beta work._

_Until my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	8. The Contest, Day Two

Chapter 8: The Contest, Day Two.

Kim kicked Ron out of bed early for the second day of the contest. Kim insisted on a workout and sparring session. They had to keep in shape and on top of their game, since self-professed criminals surrounded them. While Senior's gym facilities weren't available to Kim and Ron, being an entourage, the servant's gym was. As such, the teens were able to put in a fairly intense workout and leave enough time to clean up and eat before the breakfast feast. Returning to their quarters, they were surprised to find Bonnie waiting for them.

"Boy, you two are up and at it early," she commented.

"Gotta keep on our game, Bon-Bon," Ron answered. "If one of the other contestants tries to take you out, it will take our best efforts to keep you safe."

"That's why one of us has to stay with you whenever you're out of your room," Kim added, the frowned. "How did you get in our suite, anyway?"

"Senior gave the contestants access to our entourages' suites," Bonnie told them. "Why don't the two of you get cleaned up so we can talk some more strategy before breakfast?"

Kim and Ron complied, with Kim noting that the brunette was watching them closely, clearly curious if they were going to use the same shower or not. Kim glared at her formal rival as she went into her room and Ron went into his. Kim showered and dressed quickly, returning to the suite's main room at roughly the same time Ron did. Bonnie had a pot of coffee waiting for them.

"This is out of character for you," Kim commented, as she poured herself a cup. Ron busied himself in the kitchen area.

"I don't have quite your misadventures in the kitchen," the brunette teased, with a friendly grin. "But I can make coffee. Anyway, why don't we talk about how we're going to deal with the competition today?"

"Sounds like a good suggest to me," Kim agreed, after taking a sip of coffee. "What do you have in mind?"

"Absolutely nothing," Bonnie told her.

"I'll admit that, were someone to actually offer such a course, I'd score a gentleman's C in 'Devious Tactics," Ron commented, over his shoulder. "But isn't the idea to eliminate the other contestants, not to sit around and watch them?"

"Usually, yes," Bonnie told her guardians. "But I think I made myself too much of a target yesterday."

"How do you figure?" Kim asked, starting to get a little distracted by the smells coming from the oven.

"I eliminated one of the competitors," Bonnie told Kim. "Or, more to the point, I manipulated Lynn to the point she did something stupid. Anyway, I had set myself up as the front runner and Lynn and Leon teamed up to derail me."

"Yeah, it must have been Camille impersonating me, who fooled Ron," Kim nodded.

"Anyway, everyone wants to take down number one," Bonnie continued her lecture. "And right now, that's me. I think it's time to back off, play defense and let someone else become number one."

"And become the target," Kim concluded. "It sounds sick and wrong to compliment you, but that makes sense."

"Thanks…I think," Bonnie quipped back. "Now, I'll leave the two of you to get breakfast. Pick me up in about a half hour."

"Aren't you going to be eating with us, Bon-Bon?" Ron asked.

"No, I'll be dining with my fellow competitors today," she told him. "It's all part of the act." With that, the brunette was out the door.

"I don't know if I should be scared or happy that she's so good at playing this little game," Ron commented.

Kim couldn't help but agree.

Kim and Ron picked up their charge at the appointed time and escorted her to the Dining Lair. Trudy Dementor and Camille Leon were already present when Bonnie arrived and Elly showed up soon afterwards. The contestants seemed to have called a truce, at least long enough to get some breakfast. As such, Junior was happily stuffing his face this morning. As the meal wound down, Senior stood and addressed the group.

"I fear I must interrupt this pleasant repast by announcing the challenge for today," the old man declared. "But first, I must extend my warmest congratulations to Miss Bonnie Rockwaller. I did not expect any of the contestants to eliminate one of the competitors before the contest truly began. I must also offer lesser, but no less sincere, congratulations to Miss Camille Leon. It was undoubtedly you who fooled Miss Rockwaller's attendant into leaving the boat. I am most impressed with both of your deceitfulness."

Elly and Trudy simply glared at the other two girls.

"Very well, allow me to continue. My daughter-in-law will need to be much more than attractive and devious. She will need to be able to manage, in a villainous manner, the vast wealth I leave behind. Our contest today will reflect this necessity. I have commissioned the services of Mr. Richard Rotiffle, who has created an interactive simulation on my lair's central computer system. Each of you will be given control of a virtual villainous enterprise. Your goal will be to expand this financial and criminal empire. At the end of the day, each of you will present your virtual activities, and results, to my son and myself. The girl who proves the least successful in this endeavor will leave the island."

"Beware," Senior continued. "The virtual world Mr. Rotiflle has constructed has the same dangers that we villains encounter in the real world. You will find yourselves dealing with the virtual equivalent of law enforcement, corrupt officials seeking bribes and rival villainous organizations. Each of you will have a tutor, who will assist you when you give your virtual underlings commands. However, the decisions will be yours to make."

"You may consult with your entourages for the next hour," Senior concluded. "Exactly one hour from now, we will meet in my Technology Lair, where you will spend the remainder of the day directing your criminal endeavors. I wish you all luck, and bid you all a temporary farewell."

With that, Senior and Junior left the Dining Lair, and the contestants. Kim gave the contestants a quick survey. Bonnie and Dementor looked a little nervous, Elly looked confident and Camille looked like she was on the verge of panic. As soon as the Seniors left the room, the contestants, accompanied by their entourages, made their way back to their quarters for a little bit of strategizing. Bonnie invited Kim and Ron into her opulent suite.

"What do you think?" The brunette asked. "I mean, you take these people down all the time, what do the successful ones do?"

"We usually deal with the 'take over the world bunch' not the 'make a profit' bunch," Kim explained. "But I will say this; the quiet, steady bunch are harder to take down than the flamboyant, visible bunch."

"How about you, Ron?" Bonnie asked the blonde boy. "I heard that you turned into a villain once."

"That didn't last very long," Ron told her. "Kim took me down pretty quickly and I wasn't in it for the cash, I was in it for the nacos."

"What?" Bonnie stated at him, dumfounded.

"Long story," Kim interrupted. "The way I see it, your best bet is to not do anything stupid. Don't make any vanity purchases and work steady, discrete things like smuggling and racketeering. Camille Leon will be your safety net."

"How's that?"

"She's an idiot!" Kim exclaimed. "She's all about the bling and the attention."

"You're starting to describe me," Bonnie pointed out.

"Yeah, but you graduated high school," Kim corrected her. "Camille dropped out to spend her time partying and being seen. I don't think she could pass a GED if she had to."

"She can't be that bad," Bonnie protested. "I mean, look at her life."

"Which was paid for by her trust fund until her parents disowned her," Kim pointed out. "Ever since, she's been living off of theft. With her morphing abilities, she should be unstoppable but Ron and I caught her after only a couple of thefts. Granted, the tweebs helped but if she would have used a little intelligence, she would have gotten away with everything."

"She's that much of a ditz?" Bonnie asked.

"Bonnie, a celebrity gossip rag once asked her some simple grammar questions," Kim told her, shaking her head. "She thought that a conjunction was a road intersection where swindlers met."

"So she never saw those 'Grammar Rock' cartoons," Bonnie chuckled.

"I always liked those shows," Ron interjected, then started to quietly sing…"conjunction junction, what's your function? Hookin' up words and phrases and clauses…"

"Okay, we're getting distracted," Kim declared. "The point is, you don't have to do really well, Camille is airheaded enough that she should lose this contest."

"Do you think I have any chance against the other two?"

"If Elly's guard told me the truth, she does this at home, so you probably aren't going to beat her. I had Wade check on Dementor. Even though she's not much older than we are, she has the equivalent of a master's degree in physics. While this isn't her cup of tea, she has an impressive analytical mind. No, your best bet is to avoid the stupid mistakes and let Camille take the fall." Kim frowned, "of course, Camille knows this, so she might get desperate. She might be dumb, but she's not stupid, if you understand the sitch. We're going to have to keep our eyes on her."

"I'm going to leave that up to the two of you," Bonnie declared. "In the meantime, do you have any tips for me?"

Kim and Ron spent the next several minutes describing the mistakes that several of their foes had made, which had allowed the teens to bring them down. They stressed that excessive violence and flamboyant actions caused more trouble than they were worth. Bonnie was no idiot, she understood the concepts and decided that cutting her losses would be better than taking risks. All to soon it was time to go to the Technology Lair, so that Bonnie could match her wits against her competitors. Senior met them, and the rest of the contestants, just outside of their destination.

"Only the competitors will be allowed inside the Technology Lair," the old main explained. "I understand that the rest of you are charged with the contestants' safety, so I have arranged a room for you to observe them. This room is equipped with one-way glass, so you can assure yourselves that they remain safe, but you will be unable to signal them and offer them advice. I have even provided a scoreboard of sorts, so that you will know how your charges are doing. I will allow you to discuss tactics for a half-hour, when we break for the midday meal. Very well, contestants follow me while your attendants accompany my servant."

Kim and Ron soon found themselves ushered into a small, efficient, yet comfortable observation room, along with the other two guards. Strangely, Camille still didn't have an attendant. The four attendants listened as Ricky explained the contest. Each girl was placed in control of a virtual, legitimate business. The goal was to branch off into villainous activities and make obscene profits, while avoiding the authorities and rivals. Each girl had an assistant, to help her input commands, but the contestants had to make their own decisions.

Soon, the contest was on. As the teens had expected, Elly took an early lead and started to expand upon it. She had a very sharp mind which, combined with her experience, left Senior mesmerized with her capability. Soon, the elderly man was spending most of his time at her workstation, while she pointed out the finer aspects of her strategy.

Trudy Dementor slid into a distant second place, concentrating on enhancing her own business activities through villainous means. The blonde girl devoted considerable resources to corporate espionage and used the results to gain advantages over her virtual competitors. Bonnie was very close behind Trudy. The brunette kept a low profile, supplementing her business's activities with villainy: she smuggled things on her shipping trucks, sold some products under the table and engaged in some moderate money laundering.

Camille Leon, as Kim and Ron had suspected, was a complete spaz in the virtual world. The fallen socialite had started by arguing with her tutor, demanding to know why she couldn't just 'do that liquid thing' to her company and party with the cash. After all, since the company was worth a couple million, she could live comfortably for almost a full year.

Senior had intervened, patiently asking her what she would do when the money ran out. At first, she simply stared at him in shock, insisting that she was too busy to worry about it at the time. The ever patient, elderly man then pointed out that her competitors were building their leads over her while she argued. At that point, she went to work, squandering most of her company's wealth on extravagant parties. Just before her virtual company went completely bankrupt, Camille made a rally of sorts, prompting the guards to think that she wasn't as idiotic as they thought.

Camille's virtual parties had attracted the famous and/or powerful in her virtual world, and the attendees had worn expensive jewelry to the events. The virtual Camille then went on a crime spree, using her morphing ability to obtain a fortune in gold and gems. Just when Kim and Ron thought that the underfed socialite would manage to overtake Bonnie and Trudy, the whole setup collapsed upon her.

Much as in real life, the authorities in Ricky Rotiffle's virtual reality were no fools. Since the objects Camille had stolen were all high profile items, taken from powerful people who had all attended her parties, the authorities were on to her. Not long before noon, she found her virtual self under intense investigations. Her crime spree came to a screeching halt while Bonnie and Trudy re-established their leads. About this time, Ron's stomach informed him that it was getting close to noon and that it was feeling neglected.

"Hey KP," Ron asked. "It's getting close to lunchtime. Why don't you keep an eye on Bonnie while I go make us something?" After looking at the other two attendants for a moment, he asked, "I know that we're not supposed to trust each other, but would the two of you like anything?"

"Actually, that's quite generous of you," Elly's guard replied, not taking his eyes off of the contest on the other side of the glass. "Since Senior's rules will disqualify your contestant if you attempt to…tamper…with me, I can trust you. My culinary skills leave a great deal to be desired."

Dementor's guard nodded his agreement.

So Ron excused himself, returned to his suite and prepared lunch for four. Upon his return, he saw that KP and the other two guards were quite relaxed, Elly looked smug and both Bonnie and Trudy looked relieved.

"What's going on?" Ron asked, dolling out lunch (sandwiches, nacos and a pitcher of iced tea).

"Camille is going to be facing some virtual trials," Kim informed him, with a smirk. "The virtual authorities have enough evidence to try her for several of her thefts."

"In this scenario, she can run a criminal enterprise from prison," Elly's bodyguard chimed in. "But I don't see her as having the wits to do so effectively. We've come to the conclusion that she cannot help but place last in this competition."

"Ve just vant to keep her away from our contestants," Dementor's guard explained. "De tree of us haff agreed dat as long as der Fraulien Leon can't pull zhome zhtunt in der real vorld, zshe's gone at de end of der day."

"We don't really care if Trudy or Bonnie comes in second," Kim concluded. "We'll get defensive with each other tomorrow. For right now, it's just watch Camille blow it."

The four guardians spent the next few minutes eating lunch and watching their charges. At twelve-o'clock sharp, Senior called a halt.

"It is time for our midday meal," he announced. "We will take a forty-five minute break. You can use the time to refresh yourselves, dine, or consult with your entourages. Should any of you fail to return for the remainder of this simulation, you will be disqualified. As soon as you leave this room, my servants will lock it, so that nobody can sabotage your work. Myself, I am going to the Dining Lair, I hope to see all of you there."

"So what's your take?" Bonnie asked Kim and Ron, as soon as they were out of the other contestants' earshot.

"So far, so good," Kim told her. "The sitch is going down about how we described this morning. Camille is taking herself out of the competition. Just don't do anything stupid, don't worry about beating Trudy. Just keep doing what you're doing and you'll be here tomorrow."

"She had me worried for a little while," Bonnie admitted. "But I remembered what you had said about a low profile. Elly, on the other hand, is tearing us all apart."

"Don't worry about finishing first," Kim advised her. "This is her game, so just hang in there and we'll deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. Now, why don't you get something to eat? Fainting from hunger is one of the few ways you're going to lose this contest, so let's not take any chances." Bonnie and Kim actually shared a conspiratorial giggle as they walked towards the Dining Lair.

Elly and Trudy joined Bonnie at the buffet. The three girls were in good spirits, laughing and joking with the two Seniors. They weren't even catty towards each other, although Bonnie and Trudy appeared to resent the amount of time Senior spent chatting with the mystery girl. Trudy left partway through the meal, motioning for her guard to watch the other two contestants. Just before the meal was scheduled to end, Ron made a short trip back to his and Kim's suite, to drop the lunch dishes off in the sink. On the way back, he spotted Trudy in a whispered conversation with her guardian. Ron politely cleared his throat, so that they wouldn't divulge anything they wanted to keep secret, and slipped past them as quickly as he could.

Ron returned to the Dining Lair, to see that the contestants and guards had already left for the Technology Lair. He quickly went that way himself, and was shocked to find Trudy's guard already in the observation room, with Kim and Elly's guard.

"You move fast," he complimented the man, since he now felt comfortable enough to chat with him.

"Vhat is dhas?" The man asked.

"I went by you talking with Frau Dementor just a few minutes ago, when I passed you in the guest wing. I only made a short side trip to the Dining Lair and you still beat me here."

"I vhasn't in zhe guest ving since dis morning!" The man declared. "Vhat are you zpeaking about?"

"Dude! No need to get uptight," Ron protested, holding his hands up in front of him. "I just thought I'd compliment you."

"Really, Ron," Kim interjected. "He's been with us the entire time."

"JA," he agreed. "And I am not tightening up anyzhing! You zhay you zaw zomebody zpeaking vit mine charge?"

"Yeah, you!" Ron said.

"Wait," Elly's guard chimed in. "The contestants are arriving right now."

The four guardians watched Elly, Trudy and Bonnie all enter the Technology Lair and take their seats. Camille showed up a few moments later, looking flushed and out of breath. The former heiress barely made it back into the room before Senior ordered the door locked.

"Ah, I see that Miss Leon believes in the dramatic, last minute entrance," Senior commented. "Now that we are all here, let us continue with the contest."

"I believe I know what happed," Elly's guard told Trudy's guard, while the contestants returned to their stations. "I believe that Miss Leon impersonated you and had some words with Frauline Dementor. Mr. Stoppable observed the conversation."

"To vhat end?" The guard demanded.

"I do not know," Elly's guard replied. "But it would be wise to keep an eye on both of them."

The afternoon competition began with the guards paying close attention to their charges. For the most part, the girls behaved much the way they had during the morning session. Bonnie concentrated on keeping a low profile and enhancing her legitimate activities with a little larceny. Trudy Dementor concentrated on corporate espionage and Camille Leon concentrated on hiring lawyers and trying to beat the charges she had accumulated during the morning. Elly, to nobody's surprise, continued to wipe the floor with the competition. The mystery girl grew even more inventive, clearly capturing Senior's admiration. Kim grew a little bored with the spectacle and slipped out of the Observation Room for a private talk with Wade.

"How's the contest going, Kim?" Wade asked, obviously having just gotten out of bed.

"Sorry about the wake up," Kim apologized. "The different time zones make for a rough sitch. Anyway, I need you to check up on someone for me."

"Who is it?"

"I only know her first name, Elly," Kim explained. "Her father runs shipping on the Baltic, and he's involved in smuggling…" Kim told Wade everything she knew about Elly. It wasn't much to work with, but Wade wasn't irritated in the slightest. Instead, he seemed to almost salivate at the challenge.

It only took Wade twenty minutes to come up with an answer.

"Miss Elizabeth Minated," he answered. "Age twenty-three. Her father is one Mr. Terrance Minated. He runs a local shipping company, based in Oslo. Norwegian, Swedish, Finnish, Danish and German officials have all suspected him of underhanded activities, but none of them have ever found any evidence. He's very fond of his daughter. In fact, he has had an office built, just for her, at his headquarters. For the past several years, she has accompanied him to all of his business functions."

"That seems to fit the sitch here," Kim nodded.

"Do you need anything else, Kim?"

"One thing," Kim suddenly remembered what Camille had been up to. "Camille Leon has been playing her usual games. We think that she impersonated me once, and one of Dementor's hired goons another time. Is there any way that we can detect her when she's wearing someone else's face?"

"I have a theoretical method," Wade answered. "I'll set up the Kimmunicator to take care of it. It's based on the scan I used on Oscar and Cindy the night you stopped the diablos."

"They didn't enjoy it very much, if I recall correctly."

"It isn't very pleasant," Wade admitted. "It projects an electrical shock upon the subject, resulting in minor, involuntary muscle contractions. Since Camille mimics others through microscopic muscle manipulation, this procedure will, in theory, leave her unable to maintain the detailed muscle control this requires."

"Okay, that takes care of when we're already suspicious," Kim mused. "Do you have any safeguards that will reveal her at any time?"

"I can't do that remotely," Wade confessed. "You'll have to rely on your wits to know when to check."

"Okay Wade, that's totally high speed anyway," Kim told him. "You rock."

"Do you want me to set Ron's Kimmunicator up as well?"

"Please and thank you," Kim replied. "I better get back and see what's going on. Kim out."

The redhead returned to the Observation Room to find that the atmosphere had become a great deal tenser.

"What's the sitch?" She asked Ron.

"Trudy Dementor just did something," Ron told her. "Look at her left hand really closely and you'll see a fine wire coming out of her sleeve. While nobody in there was watching, she plugged some kind of jack into her workstation. She must have some sort of device hidden under her clothing. Professional ethics prevent us from demanding answers from her guardian."

"I vouldn't know vhat it is anyvay," the burly henchman informed them. "Der Dementor's don't let us know vhat dey're building."

"But why would she be trying to cheat on this contest?" Kim demanded. "Sure, she isn't winning, but she was nowhere near losing. Why risk getting caught?"

"I don't know," Elly's guard commented, never taking his eyes from the contest. "But I think that Miss Leon influenced Miss Dementor in some way."

The contest wore on for the next couple of hours with Dementor and Bonnie trading off second place. Camille managed to avoid prison time, but she was on probation, under investigation, and unable to continue any sort of illegal activities. Elly, on the other hand, started to show an incredible flair at her craft.

"Wow," Ron commented, at roughly three thirty in the afternoon.

"Ron," Kim snapped at him. "That's just wrong! Why are you complimenting her for doing…that?"

"I cant' help it, KP," Ron argued. "Whenever someone does something really well, I have to admire it."

Kim reluctantly had to agree that Elly's last maneuver was a masterstroke. The girl had agreed to transport a shipload of counterfeit home electronics between nations. The girl sold the legitimate cargo, from a registered shipment, off on the black market and used the ship to transport the illicit items. She unloaded the imitation items, then sailed the ship into a storm. The skeleton crew on board abandoned ship just before entering the worst of the storm, to be picked up by another of Elly's ships. At the end, Elly made a profit on the black market sale, made money by transporting the counterfeit goods, and then collected the insurance on the ship and the original cargo.

"I don't suppose you'd tell us if she ever did this in real life?" Kim asked Elly's guard.

"That's personal information, Miss Possible," he replied, with just a ghost of a smile on his face.

"Didn't think so," Ron concluded, returning his attention to the contest.

Moments later, Elly's eye's flew open in shock. The current score on the Observation Room's monitors showed Elly's score as plunging.

"What happened?" Ron demanded.

"According to the monitors, Elly just confessed all of her nefarious activities to the authorities and provided them with corroborating evidence," Kim replied, after a moment to examine the readouts.

"Why would she do that?" Ron was confused. "She was winning! If she didn't want to win, why did she even show up for this contest?"

"I don't think she threw the contest," Kim answered.

"Did one of the other contestants report her, virtually?" Ron suggested.

"Impossible," Kim replied. "Each of the contestants is working in an isolated, virtual world. Senior knew that they might stab each other in the back, so he made sure that each girl's reality is separate."

"There's the answer!" Elly's guard snapped, pointing at Dementor. The contestant had just removed her plug from the workstation's jack and was carefully concealing it in her sleeve. "She must have hacked into Elly's station and planted a false confession."

"Why would she do that?" Ron demanded. "There isn't any prize for first place! The only thing you get by not finishing last is another day in the contest. She was nowhere near losing, so why take the risk of getting caught?"

"I'm willing to bet that it has something to do with the talk Camille had with her, during the lunch break," Elly's guard mused. "What sort of deal did she cut?"

"I vhouldn't know," the henchman insisted, in response to the man's intense glare. "I'm only here to protect her person! Vhat she does to vin der contest is up to her!"

"I'm willing to bet it wasn't a deal," Ron said, stepping in between the two. "I'm willing to bet that Camille played her."

"This may be true," Elly's guard commented. "Let's see how the last half-hour plays out."

Elly did her best, but it wasn't enough. Despite her sharp mind, the authorities in her virtual world had all the evidence they needed to place her in custody. Despite the girl's frantic, brilliant attempts, the continued investigation systematically uncovered all of her activities.

"This contest has come to an end," Senior announced at four P.M. "Let's investigate the results. Miss Trudy Dementor is in first place, having used corporate espionage and sabotage to enhance her legitimate business activities. Miss Bonnie Rockwaller is in second place, by less than a half of a percentage point, also by using villainous means to enhance her legitimate business activities."

"Miss Camille Leon is in a distant third place," Senior continued. "She used her high-profile contacts to gain access to expensive jewelry and other items. Unfortunately, the authorities caught her and placed her on probation. While she is unable to conduct additional crimes at this time, she retains the potential to resume villainy at a later date."

"Finally, despite holding a most impressive lead for most of the contest, Miss Elizabeth Minated's nefarious empire collapsed under her confession at nearly the last possible moment."

"But…I…didn't…" Elly protested.

"Since both her legitimate and villainous empires have collapsed, and her virtual person is in custody and facing a long list of charges, I must conclude that she had lost this contest. It gives me great sadness to announce that I must remove Miss Elly Minated from the contest."

* * *

_A/N: Okay, the word play was sad, but I couldn't resist. Thanks again to Joe Stoppinghem for his ever-patient beta services._

_Until my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	9. Contest Interlude

Chapter 9: Contest Interlude.

Montgomery Fiske (he deliberately dropped his former title, even in his own mind) shivered into wakefulness, despite the room's warm temperature and the very warm wife in bed with him. The former nobleman cracked his eyes open and immediately regretted doing so. The dim morning light stabbed his overly sensitive eyes with a thousand blades. Fiske rolled over, another move he immediately regretted. Every muscle in his body howled in agonized protest. Forcing himself to lie motionless, and thus minimize the amount of complaining from his own body, he prodded his sluggish mind, trying to recall what put him in this condition.

The last clear memory he had was saying farewell to Drak…no, to Drew Lipsky, during the wedding reception. After that, his acquaintances had demonstrated their partying abilities, drawing Fiske into their celebration. The party, which Fiske now realized had lasted more than a day, was only blurred bits and fragmented memories. Fiske remembered singing at several points. While he didn't enjoy the pastime a great deal, it had seemed most enjoyable at the time. What was truly shocking was the fact that, despite the fact that he spoke neither Spanish nor Portuguese, he could recall singing drinking songs in both languages.

Setting this equally disturbing and intriguing thought to the side for the moment, he contemplated his companions during the extended celebration. Fiske preferred to handle his professional relations in a European manner; by remaining helpful but aloof. However, after the first few bouts of drinking he had enthusiastically embraced his fellowship with the smugglers, drivers and others that had attended his wedding. For the first time in his life, Montgomery Fiske had felt a sense of friendship with a large number of men.

Apparently, and judging from the amount of alcohol everyone had consumed, repeated vomiting was a vital part of these men's male bonding routine. It was this male bonding that had him lying in bed with his new bride, shivering despite the fact he was quite warm.

"Well, well, well," the familiar voice quipped into his ear. "Look who's finally awake!"

"Shego, must you," he paused while trying to collect his thoughts, and then continued with a whimper, "must you shout so loud?"

"I'm whispering…honey!"

"Oh … but do you have to whisper so loud?"

"I probably should have warned you," her voice was all false sympathy. "When this bunch decides to party, they go into it with a whole lot of enthusiasm."

"I take it you've dealt… dealt with them before."

"Doi! How do you think I wound up with a safe house here? Look at it this way, they've accepted you."

"And their acceptance will take me a week to recover from," Fiske added. After a moment, he managed to express some curiosity. "Why…why do you seem unaffected."

"It's my power," Shego explained. "I can get a little buzzed, but I can't really get drunk."

"So what, ow… what have you been doing for the past two days?"

"I said I can't get drunk," Shego informed her new husband. "I didn't say that I don't enjoy drinking. I've spent the last two days drinking, gossiping with the girls and consummating my marriage with my husband."

"You're really enjoying my misery, aren't you?"

"Almost as much as consummating my marriage," she smiled. "But c'mon! Get up, take a shower and get some food in you."

"Ugh, must you use the blasphemy?"

"What's that?"

"Food," Monty shuddered. "The very thought of dining makes me ill."

"You'll feel better after you shower," Shego whispered in his ear gently. "We'll talk some more once you're cleaned up." She sniffed, rather theatrically, "you need it."

"Thanks," he grumbled back, then stumbled off in their bathroom's general direction.

A little less than an hour later, Montgomery Fiske was feeling much better. The shower had taken the rank scent, that even he had been able to smell, from his body. Several glasses full of water had attested to just how dehydrated he had become. He was even looking forward to a little, light food when he wandered into the kitchen. Shego was waiting for him.

"You aren't usually the type to prepare breakfast in the morning," he commented, helping himself to a cup of coffee. Although Fiske was rather biased towards European culture, he had to admit that the Central and South Americans did coffee better than anyone he had ever met.

"Hey, I'm just trying to get your sorry butt moving," she told him, although her smirk took most of the sting away from her statement.

"Why does that particular part of my anatomy need to move?" Fiske asked. "I thought that we had another day free of our duties…Or have I spent one day longer in an alcohol daze than I think?"

"No, we have another day off," Shego confirmed. "But you forgot Drew's wedding present."

"The fertility doctor?"

"None other."

"What does he have to do with you deciding to cure my incapacitation?"

"He'll be in Guatemala City later today," Shego told him. "He'll see us early this afternoon."

"You certainly don't waste time, do you?"

"You don't get anything by just sitting around," Shego frowned. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

"No," Fiske assured her. "It's just that I'm amazed that you were able to make these arrangements during the festivities."

"Like I said, I don't really get drunk," she shrugged. "I had time to do these things while everybody else was passed out. Don't worry, I didn't use our phone to call, I ducked into town and made calls from the phone center."

"I wasn't doubting your intelligence when it comes to making covert communications," Fiske protested. "Indeed, you have a great deal more experience than I do. I'm just amazed at your efficiency."

"Hey, when I want something, I go after it," she insisted. "So get moving, mister. I still want that baby and even with the doctor, I'm gonna need your help."

* * *

Kim extended her arms over her head, arched her back and stretched one last time. Seeing that it was only 9:30 in the evening, she left her room, planning to meet up with Ron in their suite's Living Room for a little talk. Hopefully, they could fit a little 'couple time' in after the talk but right now, she needed Ron the best friend more than she wanted Ron the boyfriend. She found him seated cross-legged on the floor, with his eyes closed and a serene expression on his face. He was meditating.

His daily meditation was something that she had had to get used to. According to him, daily meditation helped him to achieve an emotional balance, which assisted him in dealing with the stress that went along with their intense life. In addition, it refreshed him and attuned him with the Mystical Monkey Power. She remembered the day after graduation, when she went over to his house in the morning, to find him in this pose. When she called his name he had opened his eyes, pleasantly surprised to discover that he had spent the entire night in deep meditation. He had felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment…

Until the Charley Horses, caused by spending the night cross-legged, had kicked in. Kim and Ron had spent the first day of their summer vacation with Ron goose-stepping, unable to flex his knees.

Not wanting to disturb him, at least not yet, she eased her door closed and padded over to the couch. She couldn't help but smile looking at him; his boyish face locked in deep, serene concentration was an odd sight. Kim had never put much weight in the mystical aspects of martial arts, but her experiences at Yamanouchi had forced her to reconsider her previous beliefs. Even so, she had no intention of delving deeply into them. Ron was doing so and proving to be a wonderful counterpart to her emphasis on the combat aspect. Like almost every aspect of their lives, they complimented each other, like Yin and Yang.

Still, she found it humorous to watch him meditate. Whenever she pictured a mystic meditating, a few select images came to her mind. One of the images was of a very distinguished, elderly man, like Sensei, wearing ceremonial robes. Another image was of Yori, a very serious person in martial arts garb. Whenever she found herself confronted with Ron, wearing a pair of sweat pants and an old, Mad Dogs football jersey, deep in inner contemplation, she had to stifle a giggle. As quietly as she could, she took a seat on the couch.

"What's troubling you, KP?" Ron's matter-of-fact question, delivered without even opening his eyes, nearly made Kim jump in shock.

"How can you tell that something's bothering me?" She asked, in order to cover her surprise.

"A couple of things," Ron answered, still not moving. "First, when we escorted Bonnie back from the evening feast, you were acting a little…off. Secondly, I can pick up on the fact that you're upset."

"You can read my mind?" Kim demanded, with a blush starting to show on her face.

"Not the drama, KP," Ron replied, his eyes still closed. "I can't read your mind, I can only get a vague sense of your emotions, and I can only do that when I'm in my meditative state and you're close by." Now, he opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Feel better now?"

"Very, and thank you," Kim told him. "And yes, you're right, something's bothering me."

"One lifelong best friend, at your immediate disposal," Ron quipped, rising gracefully to his feet and taking a seat next to her. "What's on your mind."

"It's this whole contest," Kim admitted. "You know what I thought of it when Dr. Director told us about it."

Ron nodded.

"Well, I'm getting into it. I'm really pulling for Bonnie, hoping that she'll win it. I'm helping her to win and what's worse, I'm not doing anything to stop this disgusting pageant. What does that say about me? What does that mean when my competitiveness to win overrides my…morality…about taking part in this contest?"

After a few moments of thought Ron answered, "I'd say that it means you're learning to not force your standards on everyone around you."

"Huh?"

"KP, let me give you some examples," Ron suggested. "Remember how your Cousin Larry's obsessions with role-playing games and sci-fi used to irritate you to no end?"

Kim nodded.

"Why did you quit letting them bother you?"

"Well, for starters, they saved your life," Kim answered. "Then I realized that it was just him. Sci-fi and role playing made him happy and it didn't harm anyone else."

"And that's a good start," Ron nodded. "How about me and Felix and our Zombie mayhem fixation?"

"That irritated me to no end," Kim agreed. "Until I realized that I wasn't going to be the sum and total of your life. What really bothered me was that I had gotten to the point where I expected us to go out every Friday night, even though we weren't dating."

"But about my Zombie Mayhem addiction?"

"I learned to accept it," she confessed. "Realizing that you enjoyed it, plus enjoyed playing Zombie Mayhem with Felix, and that you even offered to let me join in. I didn't much care for it, but I didn't see the harm in it."

"Exactly, now we get into an area where you might get a little upset," Ron explained. "Back when I dated Zita, _the whole two dates_," this last remark gained a small chuckle from Kim. "She asked me why you enjoyed cheerleading. I told her that, as best I knew, that you enjoyed the competition, driving your team to be the best, and you liked the recognition."

"That's pretty close to the truth," Kim agreed. "So what does this have to do with this contest."

"I'm getting there, KP," Ron assured her. "Zita told me that she couldn't understand why you would enjoy working out with the squad, just to do some routines on the sidelines."

"Hey, calm down," Ron put is arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. "I told her that you really enjoyed it and you really took it seriously. That's when she told me that if it was what you enjoyed, you should do it, just like she enjoyed on-line gaming."

"I take it that you're about to get to the point?" Kim prompted him.

"Yeah, the point is that you can't expect everyone to have the same morals, standards and priorities that you have. Sensei told me this when I was freaking out, wanting to know if he was going to take Hannah away from my 'rents. I guess the skinny of it comes down to this; for whatever reasons, Bonnie, Trudy and Camille have decided to compete for Junior's affection and Senior's approval. While you would never do something like this, you've grasped the fact that someone else might not find it disgusting or demeaning. Since Bon-Bon isn't hurting anyone by competing, you've decided to help her. So, in conclusion, you haven't compromised your morals as much as you've accepted that Bonnie's standards aren't the same as yours."

First Kim's eyes blinked as if she couldn't believe all this came from her PF. "Since when did you get so insightful?" She demanded.

"You caught me right after meditating," Ron explained. "If you ask me tomorrow morning, I'll say something like 'I dunno, maybe it's the water'."

"You are a goof! You know that?"

"I am what I is," Ron reminded her, pulling her in for a kiss. "Feel better now?" He asked, after they broke the lip contact.

"Oh and how," she whispered, before latching her mouth onto his again.

"That's what I'm here for," he murmured, then started to nibble at her neck. Kim simply giggled and lifted her chin, giving him full access to her throat.

With Ron's tendency to become clumsy at the wrong moment, Kim shouldn't have been surprised by what happened next. The two were in a rather awkward posture, sitting side by side and trying to make out. Kim shifted, turning to face her PF when physics took over. Ron was leaning into her, she didn't have any support opposite him and the couch didn't have very much friction with the crop top she wore as a pajama top. As a result, she fell over onto her back and dragged Ron on top of her. Neither teen was particularly upset with that development.

"Oh my…how…terribly…clumsy…of…me…" Ron murmured, never taking his lips off of her throat.

"Oh…you're…gonna…have…to…make…that…up…to…me," she responded, enjoying the playful banter. One of Ron's hands caressed her bare midriff's smooth skin, then slid around to her back, sliding under her top to knead her back. The full body contact, accentuated by the thin clothing they wore, was having a strong effect on both of the teens.

Not really thinking, Kim reached down and caught the hem of Ron's jersey. She pulled up his shirt and Ron, not really thinking either, lifted his arms over his head. Soon, she had pulled off his shirt. For a few moments, the two simply lay there, looking at each other with questioning eyes before both nodded, answering each other's unvoiced question before coming together again, clinging and caressing with increasing passion.

Ron suddenly realized what was happening, had no doubt where their activities were heading and was looking forward to it. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to get from here to where they both wanted to wind up, at least with any semblance of grace. While he knew that he would be clumsy and awkward at _the moment_, he still desired to limit the amount of awkwardness and clumsiness he displayed in getting to that point. Past experience taught him that too much awkwardness and clumsiness could really crimp a fun situation.

Working his one and one-half brain cells that were still functioning, he tried to think of their situation in a somewhat rational manner. First, they were making out on a comfortable, but narrow, couch out in the middle of a well-lit living room. Okay, problems number one and two were defined: While he had no experience doing what they were about to do, it was a pretty good guess they would want some more maneuvering room to do it. The second problem was that although he and Kim were very comfortable with each other, a well-lit room didn't seem appropriate for the first time. A third thing cropped up in his mind; his wallet was in his bedroom and that's where he kept…

Kim seized his head in an iron grip at that point, raising his chin so that she could trace kisses along his neck and down onto his chest, freezing up his thought processes. After a short time, he managed to compensate for the hormone overload and re-address the problems facing him. The single solution seemed to be to move them to his bedroom. He was rather pleased with himself for finding an elegant solution until he realized that he now had to implement the plan.

While he could simply ask her if she would like to go there, it sounded just a little…indecisive. He could simply get up, take her hand, and lead her there but that didn't seem exactly the right way to do it, either. He came to the conclusion that the best way to accomplish the relocation was to get up, pick her up, and carry her to his room. While he wasn't exactly experienced in romantic situations, that seemed a very romantic thing to do. He realized that if he had come to this conclusion, Kim, who was much smarter than he was, had probably reached it, as well. She was perfectly capable, and likely, to pick _him_ up and carry _him_ into one of the rooms. While Ron didn't consider himself a macho man, that sort of thing could drain his masculinity away for good. Realizing that there was no time like the present, he disengaged his legs from Kim's, stood up and swept her into his arms.

Kim was dismayed when Ron suddenly stood up, breaking away from the intimate embrace they were sharing. For a moment she felt panic, wondering if she had pushed things farther than he was comfortable going. Then she felt his arm sliding under her knees and he effortlessly hoisted her slight body into a bridal carry. Her panic subsided, replaced by renewed passion and an overwhelming sense of things being…right.

Kim Possible was no fainting heroine and she hated the stereotype. It wasn't unusual for a friend; usually Monique or Ron, to have to physically restrain her from snapping at movies, whenever a female character went all to pieces when confronted by a male villain. She was capable, decisive, and had a great deal of contempt for anybody who assumed otherwise because of her gender. Yet, right now, Ron was taking the lead and she didn't mind one bit. She had, at least for a short time, discarded Kim Possible the world saving heroine and become Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable's girlfriend.

She knew exactly what was about to happen; Ron was going to carry her into one of the bedrooms (she didn't care which one) where they would make love. It was right, it was perfect, and it was what both of them wanted. Their gazes met again, drinking in each other's longing and approval. She was scarcely aware that they were moving, Ron carrying her towards their goal.

Thus, the loud knock on the door, followed by the door opening, caught her completely by surprise.

Ron was impressed. He had always known that KP was athletic and quick-witted, but this was amazing! While he could only stand there dumbfounded, Kim flexed her torso, springing herself over his head. He swore that she did two flips before landing, catlike, on the floor. Finally, his hormone-addled brain functioned enough to put him into a combat stance, facing the opening door to see…

Bonnie Rockwaller!

"Hey K, Ron," the contestant greeted them, walking into the room. "I don't think that plotting strategy for tomorrow will do very much good, since we don't know what we'll be doing, but I was hoping that we could catch a movie. I broug…whoa! Were the two of you working out again?"

"Um…er…uh…" Ron replied, still trying to get his sluggish brain focused on the situation at hand.

"What gives you that idea," Kim snarled at their visitor.

"Well, you're both in your sweats and you look flushed…nice abs, by the way," she complimented Ron. This prompted Ron to find his jersey and pull it back on.

"Look, I didn't mean to interrupt _anything_,"Bonnie continued, winking at Kim while Ron's head was still in his jersey. "I just thought we could watch a movie or something. I know that I've never been all that nice to you guys in the past, but I thought we could try to be friends. I brought the popcorn," she held up a freshly popped bag.

"Why not?" Kim grumbled, realizing that the perfect moment had been ruined. She grabbed Ron's hand and towed him to the couch, seating her confused boyfriend before grabbing the TV's remote. "What sounds good to you?" She asked Bonnie, since Ron's mind was clearly not up to making decisions.

Kim and Bonnie paged through the selections available on Senior's lair-wide entertainment system, agreeing on a romantic comedy. A few minutes later, Kim cuddled up to Ron while Bonnie took the chair. While the movie was both entertaining and funny, Kim couldn't help but be disappointed with how the evening had turned out.

* * *

"So what happened to Creeper?" Robbie demanded of Bigfoot's delivery boy.

"Who?" The man asked.

"The kid who watched our cars!" Smoke roared at the man. "The kid who you guys grabbed and stuffed into your van yesterday!"

"Let me get this straight," the delivery boy countered, his voice dripping with contempt. "One of your '_Boyz'_ vanishes, and I'm the one who did it? What makes you think that he didn't just run off?"

"Don't play us for idiots!" Little Jack snarled, stalking up to tower over the man. "Our cameras caught it and we recorded it! Yesterday, after you dropped off the smack and we were all busy divvying it up, you and another guy grabbed him and took him away. He's one of us and we want to know where he is!"

"Back off, stretch," the diminutive man snarled back, refusing to be intimidated. "You may be interested to know that your buddy, Creeper, was running his mouth off. Another of our…associates…was hanging out, shooting some hoops, when he overheard the kid telling everyone around about big, bad Bigfoot and how he dropped the smack off at a certain warehouse. How long do you think it would have been before the cops would have raided this place?"

"That's our business," Smoke growled. "Creeper's one of us! We deal with our own and we take care of our own! When one of the Boyz acts up, you let us know and _we_ deal with it! Trust me, Creeper would have learned real quick to keep his mouth shut."

"That isn't a worry any more," the man smirked. "We'll never have to worry about…Creeper…running his mouth off again."

"Nobody takes out one of the Boyz!" Robbie roared, seizing the man by the jacket and hoisting him off of the ground. The gangster pulled back one fist, prepared to cave in that smug face.

"You'd better think about it," the man growled back. Little Jack grabbed his friend and pulled him back.

"I'll let this go…once," the man snarled, straightening out his collar. "Before you get all high and mighty again, you might want to think things through. I don't have to do anything to take any and all of you out. All I have to do is show up tomorrow, with water in the syringe instead of your medicine. You'll be dead before the next day and it won't hurt me one bit. Now, here's what you're going to do. You're going to move your operation to this address." The man pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and jammed it into Robbie's hand.

"What if we don't?" The still angry Robbie demanded.

"Then you don't get any medicine, idiot!" The delivery boy snarled right back. "I don't think you _Boyz_ understand the situation here. Bigfoot doesn't just run you, he _owns_ you. If you don't jump when he says to, you die, it's as simple as that. Now, your little pet…Creeper…ran his mouth off and word might get back to the cops that you're running smack out of this warehouse. That means that you need to move. Notice that I didn't _ask_ you to move, I _told_ you to move. This means that you're _going_ to move. Can you understand this, or do I have to find smaller words, or smarter Boyz?"

"We hear you," Smoke grumbled, while the other two Boyz quivered in rage. "But what about all the improvements we put into this place? We've invested an awful lot of money."

"That is a Boyz matter," the delivery boy informed him. "You can either take it with you or leave it here. However, I'm warning you that we better not catch you running trucks directly between here and the new joint. That would mean that you can be traced to the new locale and you'll have to move all over again."

"Okay, when do we move?" Smoke asked.

"It's up to you but your smack, and your medicine, show up at your new address tomorrow. Now, if you're done wasting my time by making me point out things that you should already know, I need to get back to work."

The three Boyz grudgingly stepped out of his way, so that he could get back into his van. Once seated, he gave them some last words of wisdom.

"I'd really think about all this, if I were you," he told the three gangsters. "You're making more money than you did before we showed up. We've cut down the turf wars, so your friends and families aren't getting shot up. All we're asking is that you do what you were doing anyway; selling smack and keeping your mouths shut. Play ball and we all wind up rich and happy. Mess with us and you go down, and we find someone else to play."

The Boyz could only quiver in impotent rage as he drove off.

"You were right," Smoke's voice was only a whisper as he addressed Little Jack. "It's only a matter of time before Bigfoot takes us all out."

"So what do we do about it?" Little Jack asked his friend. Smoke had a well-deserved reputation for keeping his temper. That's why the Boyz looked to him to make the decisions.

"I say we take Bigfoot out," Smoke told the other two.

"But even if we take him down, we're all dead," Robbie protested. "Without that acid stuff he gives us…"

"We're dead already," Smoke informed him, in a dead calm voice. "He's going to take us all out at one point or another. Think about it, what if one of us gets busted? Do you think Bigfoot will make deliveries to the prison? What will we tell the cops, 'a nine foot tall man in a blanket gave me a shot and I need special medicine each day or I'll die'? What happens if we catch a blizzard this winter, and the streets all get closed? What happens if that delivery boy has car trouble?"

"So what do we do?" Little Jack repeated.

"We take Bigfoot out," Smoke insisted. "We have to be careful about this. If he gets wind of it, he'll be ready for us. You were right, Little Jack, our only chance is to crash his joint and hope he has our medicine stored there."

"So what's the plan?" Robbie asked.

"I'm working on it," Smoke admitted. "I think we can use the move as cover."

"How's that?" Little Jack had missed whatever details Smoke had caught.

"Bigfoot's probably watching us," Smoke explained. "Making sure we're not doing anything sneaky. Well, if we're gonna be moving our operation, he's gonna have to expect a whole lot of activity. We can get ready for a hit without him knowing we're up to something."

"I'm still not catching where you're coming from," Robbie admitted.

"Okay, here's what I'm thinking," Smoke told the other two. "First of all, we just trash all of our cameras and other security stuff and buy new stuff for the new place. If anyone asks, we say that we don't want anyone catching us moving all of the old stuff to the new place. That will give us a good reason for pulling our cash out of storage."

"Why do we need the cash?" Little Jack asked.

"We divvy it up between our families," Smoke told him. "And tell them to get the hell out of town, just before we make the hit! If it all goes south, at least they'll be safe. Next, Bigfoot won't get suspicious when we call in some muscle to help us move the furniture and other heavy stuff. That will give us the chance to get about a half dozen guys, the ones we can trust the most, to go in with us." He paused a moment, "Little Jack, you did find his joint, didn't you?"

"Yeah, it's an abandoned factory, down by the docks," Little Jack told his friends. "It looks like you have a plan coming together. What do you need me to do?"

"I want you to handle the move. You're the best of us when it comes to putting a hit together, so you can pick the guys to go with us, out of the muscle you bring in to move our stuff."

"How about me?" Robbie asked.

"I want you to buy some cameras for the new place, just like Bigfoot would expect us to. While you're doing that, I want you to get all of our cash that you can get your hands on and divvy it up. We'll give it to our families before we hit Bigfoot's place. We don't dare give it out before then. I love my mother, but I can't trust her to keep a secret."

"When do we make the hit?" Little Jack asked.

"I haven't figured that out yet," Smoke admitted. "But within the next week."

"How about you," Robbie asked. "What will you be doing while me and Little Jack are doing our thing?"

"I'll be meeting with our lawyer."

"What?"

"If we pull this off, we'll need some help from the cops, really fast," Smoke explained. "I'll get our lawyer up to speed. If we roll the joint and get a couple of days worth of medicine, maybe the police or the FBI will be able to figure out how to make more of it. If our lawyer is ready to move, maybe he'll be able to cut the deal fast enough."

The gangster looked at his two friends and favored them with a sad smile. "I know we don't have much of a chance, but it's the best I can come up with. Who knows? Maybe we'll wind up heroes."

* * *

_A/N:_

_So another chapter down: I'd really like to thank everyone who's stuck with me through this tale. The reviews and PM's have been most encouraging. As always, big thanks to Joe Stoppinghem, for his beta services._

_Unitl my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	10. The Contest, Day Three

Chapter 10: The Contest, Day Three

"So what's the grand plan for today," Kim grumbled to Bonnie, as the two wandered towards the Dining Lair. Bonnie had decided to have Kim attend her during breakfast, freeing up Ron to clean the breakfast dishes and to take a long, cold shower.

"My aren't we testy this morning?" Bonnie observed. "Actually, I don't have much of a plan. I was just hoping to find out whatever contest is going to take place and plan from there."

"Are you going to try to eliminate one of the competitors today?"

"I haven't gotten that far in the planning," Bonnie confessed. "But I'd like to stay in the background again, if possible, and let the other two fight it out."

"Whatever you say," Kim grumbled.

"What's put a bug up your butt this morning?" Bonnie demanded. "I was trying to be friendly when I came over last night…Wait a minute! That wasn't a workout I interrupted, was it?"

"That's not important right now," Kim muttered.

"I don't see why it's such a big deal," Bonnie confessed. "I mean, the two of you are like, together now, so anytime you want to you can…" Bonnie's eyes suddenly widened and her face broke out in a massive smile. "Last night would have been the first time, wouldn't it?"

"Not a topic that's open for discussion," Kim insisted.

"I don't see why you've put it off so long," Bonnie snickered. "I mean, the two of you have been with each other forever, and you finally pulled your heads out over a year ago."

"Not going to answer," Kim informed her, even though Bonnie's kidding seemed more playful than snarky.

"I mean, Ron isn't exactly a hottie, but he's got a nice, tight body now," Bonnie continued, recalling seeing the subject of her conversation shirtless last night.

"I'm tuning out irrelevant sounds," Kim replied.

"Really, K," Bonnie mused, with a smile on her face. "The two of you have been so into each other for so long, even though you didn't know it, that I would have thought nature would have taken its course fairly quick…HOLD ON!" The tall brunette suddenly stopped cold. "Last night would have been your first time…ever…wouldn't it?"

"Like I said, B," Kim growled. "Not a topic for conversation."

"Would it have been his first time, as well?" Bonnie's smile was absolutely predatory as she resumed walking.

"None of your business, B!"

"You know, I would have understood if you had asked me to leave."

"Enough, Bonnie!"

"Or I could have stayed…offered a few tips and pointers." Bonnie's voice was definitely playful and not scornful.

"BONNIE!!"

"Just playing you, K," Bonnie giggled, stepping into the Dining Lair and picking up a plate at the buffet. Camille Leon was already seated, chatting Junior up. Shortly after Bonnie filled her plate and took her seat, Trudy Dementor arrived, followed by her guard. The guard was clearly on edge, upset that Camille had played his client on his watch. Kim offered a commiserating nod. The man tensed for a moment then apparently realized that he had no quarrel with the teen. He smiled and nodded back. Kim noted that he didn't keep his eyes on Trudy, he was watching Camille.

The breakfast passed fairly uneventfully. After Senior ate his fill, and noted that his guests had done the same, he climbed to his feet.

"Again, I must call a regretful end to this enjoyable repast," he announced. "First, let me offer my congratulations to Miss Trudy Dementor. Mr. Rotiffle ran a diagnostic on my computer systems and discovered that it was Miss Dementor who sabotaged Miss Minated's work yesterday. A truly fine, devious action that secured first prize for you."

Trudy looked more troubled than pleased.

"Be that as it may," Senior continued. "The Big Book of Villainy states that schemes will rarely work a second time, on the same target. I have taken the liberty of having Mr. Rotiffle isolate the computer systems for today's event. The three of you will either have to win this contest honestly or, more favorably, find another means of devious interference."

"Now, for today's event," Senior concluded. "My future daughter-in-law will need to safeguard the vast wealth and other possessions that I leave behind. Threats could come from many sources, but I am not concerned with legal issues or military action. Instead, I am addressing the need to safeguard the Lair and its contents against covert actions from rival villains, law enforcement agencies and independent heroes." Here, he favored Kim with a wide smile and a gracious hand gesture.

"This will be another virtual reality contest. Each of you will be given a full, hypothetical lair's design. You will be armed with a budget, a time frame, and a chart showing the expenses and installation times for certain, fiendish traps and other barriers. At the end of the day, Mr. Rotiffle will insert a virtual team of infiltrators into your virtual reality. This team will attempt to infiltrate your lair and reach the devices of appalling doom you have stored within. The contestant who designs the most successful defense will be the winner. The contestant who designs the least successful defense will leave my island. You will have one hour to consult with your entourage before we convene in the Technology Lair to begin the contest."

"That's like, so not fair!" Camille Leon protested.

"Ah, Miss Leon, while the very idea of fairness in a villainous contest seems most odd to me, I must ask you what you find objectionable about this arrangement."

"Huh?" Camille asked.

"What do you find to be unfair, my prospective daughter-in-law?"

"It's like, the other two girls have people to help them!" She pouted. "I totally didn't have enough time to find anybody to come here with me!"

"But Miss Leon," Senior observed. "I arranged for your escape a full two weeks before this contest began."

"And that was, like, barely enough time to shop for a proper handbag!"

"It takes you two weeks to purchase a handbag?" Senior was confused.

"Well, that took four days, then I had to take a one-week vacation to get rid of all the stress from the shopping," Camille explained.

"Be that as it may, Miss Leon, you failed to obtain assistance in the allotted time. You will need to live with your priorities. As another consequence, the Big Book of Villainy states that the true villain does not bemoan his; or in your case her, fate in public. As such, I now grant the contestants two hours to consult with their entourages. Make use of the time as you see fit."

Camille stormed out of the Dining Lair while Bonnie stood up and approached Kim.

"This is perfect," she whispered to the Redhead, motioning for the two of them to return to her suite. "While Trudy will have an advantage over me, you and Ron will give me an advantage over Camille."

"We've never designed defenses,' Kim informed her.

"No, but you've broken into them," Bonnie pointed out. "You know what works and what's just expensive, useless junk. That should let me beat Camille."

"True," Kim conceded. The two girls talked shop on the way to Bonnie's suite, halting their conversation as they passed a servant polishing the wooden walls. A quick call brought Ron from across the hall, and they were soon working out a general strategy for Bonnie.

"Okay, several layers of defense are better than one big trap," Kim pointed out, after forty-five minutes of talking strategies. "Put your most formidable defenses on the inside of your layers. That way, the infiltrator uses up her resources and energy on you lesser defenses, leaving her tired and empty-handed to face your last one."

"Not to mention, you might trap the infiltrator between layers," Ron pointed out. "If someone sneaks all the way into your last barrier and can't get through it, they might not be able to get back out through your outer barriers."

Kim sat back and let Ron do most of the talking. While her partner didn't have the keen mind that she did, he was better at explaining things to Bonnie. The blonde boy explained that she needed to cover all openings, including ductwork and utility tunnels. As he was going into greater detail, Kim decided that it would be a good idea to check in with Wade, to see what was happening back home. She excused herself, since Senior had Bonnie's quarters shielded against all transmissions. She offered a polite nod to the custodian, who was still polishing the walls, as she crossed the hall and stepped into her suite.

"Hey Wade," she greeted her sleepy technical support. "Do you have any updates for us?"

"Not much," the youngster admitted. "The FBI picked up Adrena Lynn as soon as she tried to sneak back into the country. I don't know where she's being held right now, but she has a nice collection of additional charges to go with the original ones."

"That's sounding good," Kim nodded. "How about the site?"

"Traffic is slow. Most people seem to accept that you're currently engaged. A few people have been insisting that you're the only one who can help, but I've been forwarding them to appropriate organizations. On a more personal note, Monique is back in town and wants to inform you that you better be ready for a MSS, whatever that is, as soon as you get back."

"Major Spill Session," Kim translated. "Anything else?"

"Other than Riverna's wanting to know when Ron's getting back to take over the dessert duties, no."

"Let the appropriate people know that we should be just a couple more days," Kim told him. "I won't say anything until the contest is over, but it shouldn't be much long…"

A knock on the door interrupted her.

"Gotta go, Wade."

"Anytime, Kim."

Putting the Kimmunicator away, Kim opened the door to reveal her boyfriend.

"Ron?" She asked. "Aren't you supposed to be helping Bonnie and why are you knocking?"

"I lost my card thingy," the blond boy told her, stepping inside. "And…Bonnie…has enough of her unfair advantage."

"Unfair advantage?" Kim asked. "Why is us helping her unfair?"

"Never mind, Kim," Ron waved the question away.

"Okay, what's wrong?" Kim demanded.

"Why do you think anything's wrong, Kim?"

"Using my name, of course! Look, if this was about what happened last night, I'm just as disappointed as you are."

"Uh, right. Last night…was…disappointing…wasn't it?"

"Yeeeeaaaaaahh," Kim drawled. "Look, are you feeling okay?"

"Sure Kim, I just wanted to hang a little bit with my most…like…radical girl for a little bit."

"Don't you mean badical?"

"Like, what_ever_," Ron reached out to gather Kim into his arms. Kim leaned forward to kiss him when she had a sudden moment of doubt. She pushed away from him, knocking him back.

"Like, Kim, what's wrong?"

"This," Kim snarled, pointing the Kimmunicator at him and pushing the button. The device emitted a barely visible beam onto the blonde boy.

"Eiiieyyouch!" He squealed, in a higher voice. Ron's features blurred for a moment to reveal.

Camille Leon!

"What's the sitch?" Kim snarled at her.

"What's wrong Possible?" Camille taunted the redhead. "Afraid you won't want to go back to the sidekick?"

"You…what…I…" Kim spluttered. "YOU ARE SUCH THE UNDERNOURISHED GREASY SPLOTCH ON THE WALL ONCE I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!"

Camille screeched and ran back out of the door. Kim was in immediate pursuit. The emaciated contestant ran just a short way down the hall before turning to face her pursuer.

"Now Kim," Camille said, backing away slowly and holding up her hands. "Don't tell me you aren't intrigued a little bit."

"YOU!!!!" The redhead screamed. "ARE SOOOOO DEAD!"

"Kim, no!" Bonnie yelled, running up behind Kim with Ron at her side. The blonde boy attempted to restrain his girlfriend.

"Let go!" Kim yelled at him, trying to shrug him off.

"If you deck her," Bonnie said, in a calm voice. "I'm out of the contest."

That remark cooled Kim's temper like a supertanker full of water dumped on a redheaded conflagration.

"THAT was your game!" Kim snarled at Camille. "You wanted to taunt me into smacking you down, to take Bonnie out of the contest!"

"And I almost pulled it off," Camille snickered back. "Watch your back, Kim." Camille spun on her heel and stalked off, her nose planted firmly in the air.

"I think we'd better be careful, whenever we meet up after being separated," Ron murmured.

"That's the truth," Kim agreed. "Maybe we'd better warn Trudy and her guard."

"No!" Bonnie insisted.

"She might try to play them, next," Kim protested.

"I'm not a proud girl, K," Bonnie admitted. "If Camille wants to play the competition, and help me survive another day, that's fine by me."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Kim insisted.

"This is a villainous competition," Bonnie reminded the redhead. "What could be more underhanded than letting your competitors do the dirty work?"

"That makes sense, in a sick and wrong sort of way," Ron admitted.

"Fine," Kim grumbled. "We have a little time, let's review a little more.

* * *

By the time Senior's starting time rolled around, Kim and Ron had Bonnie as prepared as they could, realistically. The two teens escorted the brunette to the Technology Lair, then joined Trudy's guard in the Observation Room to watch the competition. As with yesterday's competition, each of the contestants had a tutor to help them input commands. The first hour went by with the contestants learning how to implement their decisions.

Unlike yesterday's competition, there was no way to determine who was winning. Trudy Dementor concentrated on electronic traps and detection devices. Bonnie, following Team Possible's suggestion, first hired a solid core of guards before installing a functional communication system. Finally, she installed a basic, single perimeter. She was working on the second layer when Trudy's guard broke his silence.

"I notice dat your charge is keeping it zimple and ztraightforward," he commented.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Kim demanded.

"Nein," he replied, holding up his hands in a mollifying gesture. "I vas just making ze converzation. It vill be interesting to zee how her approach compares to Trudy's high tech methods, no?"

"I guess so," Kim agreed. "I don't think the third contestant is really in the running."

"Dat's der truth," the guard nodded. "But dat vill make her even more dangerous in der real world, no?"

"Good call," Kim nodded her thanks for pointing out that fact.

Indeed, Camille's efforts appeared to be a complete farce. She had started out by hiring a band of security guards…then wasted the next forty-five minutes color-coordinating their uniforms with her lair's interior. After this, she insisted on having her lair's exterior painted to match the interior, and her guards' uniforms. Finally, she had an electrified, perimeter fence installed and fitted with motion and contact sensors, only to waste more time and money by insisting on a new color scheme for the fence. Kim, Ron and Dementor's guard began to relax as the morning wore on.

"It is now time to break for lunch," Senior announced to the contestants, shortly before noon. "Such fiendish, mental activities require good food to maintain! We will take a one-hour break, which you may use to eat, confer with your entourage, or a combination of the two. We will take another break at three-thirty this afternoon, for light refreshment before judging this contest's results. Like yesterday, I will lock this room after we leave and it will remain locked until I return, one hour from now."

With that, Senior herded the contestants out of the Technology Lair. Kim and Ron met up with Bonnie, who told them that she wanted to catch a quick bite to eat before retiring to her suite for a little more brainstorming. As the she escorted her former rival to the Dining Lair, Kim noticed that Camille left for her suite's wing, rather than the Dining Lair. Trudy Dementor motioned for her guard to follow the changeling.

The lunch was rather quiet and subdued, despite Senior's best efforts to be a genial host. While both Trudy and Bonnie knew that they could beat Camille in the ongoing contest, they were both aware of the fact that the fallen socialite was likely to try something underhanded. The fact that Camille was not in the Dining Lair seemed to make the two, young women even more nervous. Both contestants grabbed a quick bite to eat before excusing themselves as quickly as proper manners would allow.

Once back at her suite, Bonnie called a meeting with Kim and Ron, describing some of the more exotic items Senior had included on his 'shopping list'.

"The spinning tops of doom are nasty things," Kim admitted. "Bit I don't think they're very cost effective. Besides that, they only work if you're down on the floor level. They can't follow you up stairs like a henchman can."

"Not to mention if you put some in, the henchmen won't be able to chase intruders through the place the tops are running," Ron added.

"Okay, here's my advice," Kim stated. "Throw in some of the hidden systems that the henchmen can activate. That way, when the motion and heat sensors pick up intruders, your henchmen can activate the hidden systems, catching intruders by surprise."

"And don't forget the ducts," Ron added. "Wherever you put a barrier across hallways, put barriers across any ductwork."

Kim and Ron continued to discuss more details with their contestant until they only had a few minutes left before Bonnie needed to return to the Technology Lair. Senior unlocked the door and allowed the contestants to enter. He addressed them before restarting the contest.

"I must warn all of you," he addressed the contestants, as well as the guardians watching from the Observation Room. "One of my loyal henchpersons informed me, just before we reconvened, that they have spotted Miss Minated's guard creeping about the island. My henchperson is concerned that he might be trying to gain revenge, for failing his charge during yesterday's competition."

"Like, what good would that do?" Camille demanded. "Isn't Elly, like, already out of here?"

"Indeed, Miss Leon," Senior nodded. "But this guard is looking at a much larger picture. The _Big Book of Villainy_ states that one should attempt to gain revenge upon whomever outwits you, thus discouraging others to attempt to outwit you, themselves. If he is able to gain revenge upon you or Miss Dementor, he will enhance his own reputation. But let's not worry about him at this moment. We are quite secure here and we have a competition to complete. Mr. Rotiffle, please restart the contest!"

Soon the contestants were hard at work, once again. Trudy Dementor continued her earlier strategy, maintaining a small core of henchmen, supplemented by very high technology security devices. Bonnie was Trudy's polar opposite, keeping a larger cadre of henchmen and more simple security devices. It didn't take long for the guards to become bored.

"Hey KP," Ron suggested. "Why don't I go get lunch for the three of us? None of us had a chance to eat and both Bonnie and Trudy are safe inside the Technology Lair."

"Sounds good to me," Kim agreed.

"And me as vell," Dementor's guard added. "I must thank you for being zo friendly during our ztay on ze island."

"Just give me a three step head start the next time we break into the professor's lair," Ron suggested, heading for the door. "And we'll call it even."

Before long, Ron returned to the Observation Room with a large tray of sandwiches, some veggies and dip, and a big pitcher of lemonade. Kim shocked him with her Kimmunicator.

"What was that for?" Ron demanded, struggling to keep from spilling the food.

"Just making sure you're not Camille," Kim told him.

"But she's right down there in the Technology Lair!" Ron protested, setting the bounty on a counter.

"You can't be too sure," Kim informed him. "She's tricky."

"She is, isn't she?" Ron agreed, then shocked Kim right back.

"Hey!" The redhead protested.

"Just making sure," Ron assured her.

"Leave me out of dis, please," Trudy's guard pleaded. The teens called a truce and soon they and the henchman were eating, watching their charges, and talking like old friends.

"Zo, you znuck into zer lair vitout der frauline because zshe had a book from zer library dat vhas overdue?" The man asked Ron, when they discussed the misadventures the boy had endured while Kim was working under Ms. Hatchet's angry gaze.

"Sometimes it was hard to believe that we had to deal with teenaged life, as well as techno-villains," Kim told him.

"You two lead a very interesting life," he murmured, with a shake of his head.

"How about you?" Ron asked. "How do you get into the henchman trade."

"I ztarted out as a porter," he admitted.

"What's that?" Ron asked.

"I vhas der guy who rode along in der truck vit der driver," he explained. "and helped unload der cargo. Vhun day, I zaw henchco's flyer at der loading dock and took a copy. Next thing I know, I'm enrolled in the henchperson's union and vorking for Dementor. Der pay was much better than der porter's."

"It's that simple?" Kim asked, but Senior interrupted the henchman's response.

"Time certainly flies when we're conducting simulated villainy," he declared. "It is already time for our afternoon break. My servants have set up some light refreshments in the Dining Lair. You are all welcome to partake, or to spend the time discussing additional strategies."

Again, the aging villain herded his prospective daughters-in-law out of the Technology Lair. Camille Leon immediately rushed off in her suite's general direction. Trudy's guard immediately followed her.

"Is something going on with that?" Ron asked Kim.

"I bet they decided that Camille is the biggest threat here," Kim told him. "Trudy doesn't want to get played again, so she's having her guard keep an eye on Camille."

"Not a bad idea," Ron commented, falling in step with Kim, behind Bonnie.

Senior led the small group to the Dining Lair and engaged the two contestants in casual conversation. The elderly man didn't stay at the table very long; just long enough to enjoy a cool drink. On two occasions, Dementor's guard rushed through the room, sporting a frustrated look on his face.

"I bet he can't find Camille," Kim whispered to Ron. "I wonder where she's gotten to?"

Before Ron could respond, Senior and his guests finished their refreshments. As Senior led the way back to the Technology Lair, Bonnie and Trudy excused themselves to attend to 'other business.' Kim followed the two at a discrete distance while Ron looked around for Camille and Trudy's guard. Ron had just spotted the Dementor henchman, approaching from the guest suites' direction, when Bonnie and Trudy emerged from the Ladies Lair. Kim trailed well behind the two contestants, who were on an intersection course with the oncoming henchman. The guard reached the corridors' junction before the two contestants and signaled his charge, with a shake of his head, that he couldn't find Leon. About that time, a ventilation diffuser, which Bonnie and Trudy had been walking under, literally exploded out of the ceiling.

The girls froze in shock while Kim, Ron and Trudy's guard moved in to investigate. Elly's burly bodyguard rose from the dust and took two steps towards the cowering blonde before Dementor's henchman sprang into action.

While the typical henchman couldn't handle Kim or even Ron in a fight, Dementor had clearly sent a very capable man to guard his daughter. He reacted almost as quickly as Team Possible's members and, since he was much closer, he arrived on the scene first. He reached the rogue guard just before he got his hands on Trudy. Dementor's guard tackled his adversary and the two bulky men tumbled down the hallway towards Ron.

The blonde boy was confronted by a wild mass of flailing limbs. Not knowing whom he should restrain, or even _if_ he should try to restrain either of the men, Ron placed himself between the melee and Bonnie, determined to keep the brunette safe. Kim joined him as the struggle calmed, revealing Dementor's guard with a solid headlock on…

Camille Leon?

"Kindly unhand the contestant," Senior sternly instructed the man. "I brook no violence to my guests."

"But vhat is dhas?" The henchman demanded. "It vhasn't her dat I zsaw!"

"Miss Leon has just eliminated your charge in a most treacherous manor," Senior informed the henchman, who was climbing to his feet. "Indeed, Miss Leon deceived me earlier, by posing as one of my servants and warning me that Miss Minated's guardian was seeking revenge."

"Because you warned us, we were all more likely to believe that he was sneaking around here!" Ron concluded, politely offering Camille a hand to her feet.

"So I'm out of the competition?" Trudy demanded, glaring at the henchman.

"Indeed, Miss Dementor," Senior explained, in a patient tone of voice. "On your first day here, I explained to everyone that I would not allow any violence offered to any of my guests. As per the terms I explained on that day, you are eliminated from the competition."

"But he didn't know it was her!" Trudy protested. Interestingly, the blonde girl sported only a light accent.

"It does not matter," Senior informed her, gently. "It was still an assault. This is, after all, a villainous competition. Miss Leon eliminated you honestly, by devious means."

"Playing me didn't work," Kim growled, firmly taking Camille's hand out of Ron's. "So you tried the other team?"

"If this other guy," Camille pointed at Ron. "Had been five steps closer, I would have taken out your contestant, Kim."

"So I'm out, just like that?" Trudy gasped.

"Indeed, Miss Dementor," Senior reminded her. "I suggest you and your attendant pack up your things. My plane will take you home within the hour."

"I guess it's just as well that I lost," the girl grumbled. "Papa has been having stomach troubles."

"The professor's ill?" Kim asked.

"I don't think it's very serious, but it's a topic I'd rather not talk about. Fortunately, his last delivery from Henchco included a complimentary songbird. He says that the singing is a delightful diversion for him, since he cannot get far from his toilet."

"Please give the evil professor my regards when you meet him," Senior declared, with a note of finality. "I will now brief the last two contestants."

"Very well, my two lovely and devious, potential daughters in law," he addressed the two girls. "My original plan was to hold a contest to determine the best at gleaning information from casual conversations. Before the contest, I had already inviting my poker companions to the island, giving each of them secrets, and seeing which of you lovely young ladies could trick them into divulging their protected information. However, Miss Rockwaller took the evil initiative and eliminated Miss Lynn on the very first day."

"However, the Big Book of Villainy calls for us to be flexible," Senior continued. "Thus, tomorrow will see us conduct the final competition. Your goal will be to capture my son's heart. The two of you will spend the day with Junior. Tomorrow evening, in front of my wealthy friends, Junior will choose his bride."

* * *

_A/N: The contest is almost done! Please stay tuned for the conclusion! Thanks for reading and thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for his ever-patient beta work._

_Until my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	11. Contest Interlude, Part 2

Chapter 11: Contest Interlude, Part 2.

"Okay, so tomorrow is like, a complete beauty and charm thing?" Bonnie asked.

"From what Senior said, yes," Kim replied. The three Middleton teens were gathered in Bonnies luxury suite, discussing tomorrow's events.

"I think you have this one locked up, Bon-Bon," Ron told her, before flinching under Kim's glare.

"Quit calling me Bon-Bon," Bonnie snarled. "And why do you say that?"

"Well," Ron forged on ahead, knowing that he was going to owe Kim a major explanation later. "Camille really isn't all that attractive. I mean, she has the designer fashions and the attitude but, when you really get down to it, she's not very pretty."

"So why are the paparazzi like, snapping pictures of her everywhere she goes?" Bonnie demanded.

"She's a media sensation," Kim explained. "Not only is she's…well…kind of hot, they can count on her to do just about anything to stay in the news and they can count on her to say some really stupid things. Look, why would a lazy reporter put in the time and effort to unearth some representative's bribe scandal, which the representative is trying to keep secret, when people are willing to buy magazines with Camille in a skimpy outfit? Since Camille is more than willing to have her picture taken like that, it isn't any real effort."

"But you say that I have this one locked up?" Bonnie prompted her two attendants.

"Yeah. Yeah I do," Ron answered. The blonde boy figured he was in trouble anyway, so he forged on. "Bonnie, you and Kim have spent years cheerleading. Add to that, you've done ballet for about the same amount of time that Kim has done Kung-fu and world saving. Now, Kim can beat me to a pulp later, but your bodies have adjusted to your lifestyles, making you toned and athletic. To me, that's hot. Now, some guys might like the 'starved and skinny' look, but not me! I don't think Junior is much on the 'undernourished waif' look, either. Bonnie, all you have to do is go out there tomorrow, look your best, and Junior's going to think that you're a dozen times hotter than Camille."

"Do you really think so?" Bonnie insisted.

"I know so," Ron assured her.

"I never thought my boyfriend could say that another girl was hot without irritating me," Kim commented. "But he managed it."

"Okay, Monique sent quite a few outfits along with me, tell me what you think!"

For the next forty-five minutes, Bonnie repeatedly disappeared into her suburban-home-sized bathroom, to emerge each time wearing new clothing. Kim and Ron, (mostly Kim) offered comments for her active wear, casual wear, and formal outfits, helping her to select what she would wear during the following day. When Bonnie got to the swimwear "exhibit", Kim rather firmly sent her boyfriend back to their room, suggesting that he needed to prepare dinner for the two of them. Bonnie grinned at her formal rival the moment Ron left the room.

"You don't like him seeing other girls in bikinis, do you Kim?" The brunette asked, stepping back into the bathroom.

"I trust him," Kim rose her voice slightly, so Bonnie could hear her through the door. "I just don't want him to get too comfortable with ogling other girls."

"Oh, wait a minute!" Bonnie exclaimed, throwing open the door and stepping out to reveal a very flattering one-piece. "That wasn't for your benefit, it was for his! Very good move, K!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kim grumbled, motioning for Bonnie to turn around.

"I think you do, K," Bonnie countered, pirouetting to show off the suit. "When you chased him out of here you told him that he was worth keeping in line! I didn't expect something like that from you!"

"Hey, he's my guy, you know," Kim replied. "That's a very Monique creation, it's kind of modest but flattering all the same."

"Monique told me that anybody can just bare it all and hope for the best," Bonnie agreed with Kim. "But it takes an artist to be flirty, to not really show it but to kind of suggest. She says that the best swimsuits pique the interest but let the guy's imagination run wild."

"She hit the mark with you and that suit," Kim nodded. "It really works for you."

"Thanks, Kim, let me try the two-piece."

Much to Kim's surprise, she actually enjoyed talking about the fashions and accessories with her formal rival. The two young women talked and compared notes and suggestions for almost an hour, before Kim's stomach rumbled.

"It's time for me to grab a bite," Kim told Bonnie. "Are you going to be okay here?"

"Sure, I'll lock the door behind you," Bonnie assured her guardian. "I wouldn't put it past Camille to try something before Junior makes his choice." Bonnie hesitated for a moment, "Look, K, not trying to be snarky or anything but…I'll stay here tonight, in case you want a little alone time with Ron."

"Bonnie I…thanks," Kim said, simply. Kim stepped outside of Bonnie's door, made sure her charge locked the door behind her, then crossed the hall and used her card to open her door. A good meal's smell struck her as soon as she stepped inside. Kim smiled, seeing the table set for two and Ron meditating in the living room.

Kim poked her boyfriend, taking him out of his meditative state so that the two of them could dine together. After that, they cleared the table and Ron did a little prep work for breakfast, what should be their last breakfast on Senior's island. Much to her own surprise, Kim found that she had enjoyed her stay this time, probably because the spinning tops of doom hadn't made an appearance.

"So, is Bon-Bon all settled in for the night?" Ron asked.

"She was digging through her cosmetics, trying to find the perfect look, when I left," Kim informed him. "I think that's the one place where Camille might have a slight advantage over her; a woman who can alter her appearance at will doesn't have much use for makeup."

Ron chuckled a bit before stating, "So, our responsibilities for the day are finished, and we're just about ready to go home."

"Yeah," Kim agreed. "This must be what it had been like for the 'rents when they got us to bed and the dishes washed. Time to unwind."

"K-KP," Ron began, a little hesitantly. "What was happening last night. I mean, what we nearly did…"

"Was something I wanted to happen," Kim assured her boyfriend.

"And with a day to think about it?" Ron prompted.

"It's still something I want to happen," Kim assured him.

Moments later, the teens were on the couch again, this time with Kim on top of Ron. Lips and tongues met and fenced, hands slid over each other's bodies, leaving two very fit teens gasping for air. Again, Kim felt an overwhelming sense of this being the right thing to do. This wasn't some heat of the moment thing, even though things were getting hot and heavy. This wasn't some infatuation on either of their parts. They had worked hard to get to this point, bonding themselves together on an incredibly deep level. What was happening, what was about to happen, would enhance that bond.

With that realization, Kim let her analytical mind go and just lost herself in the moment. Her mother had told her that she should use her brain to get to the right moment, then let the moment take over. Now she was all over Ron, her mouth glued to his and his hands under her mission shirt, touching, caressing, and inflaming. Kim pulled back slightly and, like last night, pulled off his mission shirt. Moments later his hands were under her shirt again, peeling it up, about to return the favor.

Again, like last night, a rapid series of knocks provided scant warning before Bonnie Rockwaller stormed into their suite.

"I can't believe this!" The brunette shrieked, gesturing into the hallway behind her.

"_**YOU**_ can't!?" Kim snarled back, making a desperate effort to straiten her clothing. Ron had rolled off of the couch and was fumbling for his own shirt.

"Get this, K," Bonnie complained to the flustered redhead, who now joined her at the doorway. "This…servant…just showed up and told me that I have to give him all of the clothes I'm going to wear tomorrow, for some sort of special cleaning!"

Kim followed Bonnie's gesture and saw a trim young man, wearing Senior's livery.

"My pardon," he said. "But as I was trying to explain to your client. Senior Senior Junior has allergies to certain chemicals commonly used in dry cleaning. Senior Senior Senior has his own, special dry cleaning facility. We need to re-clean all fabrics, to make sure that Junior doesn't suffer any ill affects."

"And you couldn't tell us this on the first day?" Bonnie demanded. "I mean, I don't see any way you can have my casual wear washed in time for me to wear it to breakfast tomorrow."

"I can assure you that we will take care of your items, Miss Rockwaller."

"Hold on," Kim asked. "Just what chemicals are we talking about here? I'll contact my tech support and we can find out if any of these chemicals are present." Kim picked up her Kimmunicator, prepared to call Wade.

"I'm afraid that won't be good enough, Kim," the servant told her. "And I don't know which chemicals cause the problem. I simply received my instructions to clean all of Miss Rockwaller's clothing."

"So what's going on with Camille?" Bonnie demanded.

"I'm sure that another servant will collect her clothing, for the same treatment."

"Maybe I can shed some light on the whole sitch," Kim suggested, pressing a button on the Kimmunicator and aiming the device at the servant. The man jumped, squealed and morphed, revealing Camille Leon.

"Nice try," Kim grated at the fallen socialite.

"This isn't over, Kim," Camille snarled, before storming away.

"What was that all about?" Bonnie demanded.

"I'm sure that if you would have turned over your clothes, they would have either vanished or had some really nasty alterations inflicted," Kim informed her. "Now, did he…er, she…do anything except ask for your clothes?"

"She…er….he…er….she dropped off some complimentary chocolates."

"Did you eat any of them?"

"I haven't had a chance," Bonnie told her. "Why?"

"Let's grab them and have Wade run an analysis."

Moments later the three teens gathered around the Kimmunicator. Kim sliced a cross section off of one of the chocolates and put it in the Kimmunicator's sampling hatch. Odd sounds emanated from the high tech device.

"It's drugged, all right," Wade reported. "Nothing permanent, but if you had eaten one of these, you would have had some very interesting blotches all over your face, a swollen tongue and body odor that would offend a professional manure slinger."

"That's horrible," Ron complained.

"Like I said, no permanent effects," Wade countered. "Everything would have worn off in 24 to 48 hours."

"That's not what I mean," Ron whined. "Messing with a coconut is bad enough, but she tampered with the nougats. That's like defacing a piece of art!"

"Focus, Ron," Kim interjected. "Now, what do we do about it?"

"Well, I'm not staying alone tonight," Bonnie declared. "She could be anybody!"

"You're perfectly safe as long as you keep your door locked," Kim countered.

"I'm not taking any chances!" Bonnie declared. "I'm sleeping here tonight and that's final!"

"I'll grab the couch," Ron muttered with a resigned sigh.

"Oh no you don't!" Bonnie snapped. "I'll come out here in the morning and there you'll be…scratching yourself or something!"

"And your point would be…" Ron prompted.

"It's disgusting!"

"It's my eighth favorite hobby!"

"What are the seven above that…DON'T ANSWER!" Bonnie shrieked, as Ron smiled at the beginning of her question.

"Okay, Bonnie, you grab the couch," Kim instructed.

"No way! I need to look my best tomorrow and that means a good night's sleep." Seeing Kim's glare, Bonnie continued, "after all, K, you do want me to win, don't you? If you let Camille win because she forced me to try to sleep on a tiny couch overnight, you'll have failed in your mission."

"Fine," Kim threw up her hands. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"I'll be keeping you awake when I watch movies tonight," Bonnie protested. "I keep later hours than you do, K."

"Didn't you just say that you wanted a good night's sleep? " Ron asked.

"When I decide to go to sleep, I want to be comfortable," Bonnie informed him, with her nose in the air. "I'll take Kim's room and Kim will just have to move in with you for tonight. Just don't keep me awake with your carrying on!"

"But if you keep later hours than we do…" Ron began.

"Let it drop, Ron," Kim instructed him. "Let's help her move over for the night."

Ron was admittedly confused by the fact that Bonnie saw fit to pack an overnight bag for her stay. However, he gamely took the sheets off of Bonnie's bed and used them to replace the sheets on Kim's. Kim scooped up a set of clothes and bundled them into Ron's room while Bonnie settled herself into Kim's. Shortly after they completed the move, Bonnie and Kim settled in to watch another movie. Ron, having no interest in the show they chose, went to his room for a little reading and some meditation.

Kim called it a night after the first movie and went into her new quarters to see Ron seated lotus style on the bed, with a large book next to him, clearly in meditation. Kim changed into her pajamas then stood for several minutes, watching him. She was reluctant to rouse him but, as he was seated on top of the covers, she would have to make him move at some point. She reached out to poke his shoulder, but he opened his eyes before her hand made contact. Instead of poking him, she draped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss.

"Now THAT'S the way to come out of a trance," he quipped, once she let him have some air.

Kim's giggle was short-lived. She appreciated the humor, but had other things on her mind. Bonnie was safely in the other room, distracted by another movie. Kim eased Ron back onto his back and reclaimed her earlier location on top of him. The redhead brought her lips close to his ear and asked him, in a breathless whisper,

"Shall we take up where we were, before Bonnie interrupted us?"

Ron answered with his lips and his hands, re-igniting the passions they had kindled earlier that evening. Barely conscious of her actions, Kim reached up with one hand and pulled back the covers on one corner of the bed. Slipping off of Ron, she slid between the sheets and made her best effort to put both an invitation and demand for him to join her in a single glance. The usually slow Ron Stoppable understood her immediately.

Ron had no sooner joined her between the sheets than she was in his arms again, wrapping her limbs around his body. Again, she eased him onto his back before sliding on top of him, pressing her slender body against his. Ron's mind reeled; assaulted by sensations and yearnings he had never felt with such intensity. One of his hands grazed the book he had left on the bed, the Upperton University Playbook.

Somehow, Ron's hormone-addled brain correctly identified that particular piece of literature. Ron didn't want to cause any damage to the book, but he also didn't want to interrupt the activity he was currently experiencing. He barely recalled the desk off to the side of his bed and concluded that it would be a safe place for the playbook. Ron lofted the book at the desk, hoping to land the book, flat, on the desk's surface. Unfortunately for the young man, the twin surges of adrenaline and testosterone he was experiencing caused him to lob the book harder than he had intended. The playbook struck the wall behind the desk.

The same wall that separated Ron's bedroom from the living room.

A feminine shriek of surprise and mild pain shocked the two lust crazed teens out of their hormone induced stupor with a sudden realization.

Bonnie Rockwaller had been listening to them, her ear pressed against the wall.

"Goodnight, _Bonnie_!" Kim called out, to be answered by the sound of pattering feet, retreating from the wall.

Kim and Ron, by unspoken agreement, simply cuddled together and tried to go to sleep. While the mood was broken, the desire wasn't.

It was a long night for both teens.

* * *

It just didn't work out! No matter how many times Warmonga studied the genomes, she couldn't see the structures that would give her samples superhuman capabilities. Genetically, the clones looked like normal male and female humans, of primarily European descent. Warmonga was perfectly aware that the powers Shego and Stoppable exhibited could manifest themselves post-puberty, but she should still be able to locate genetic precursors for the biologic systems that would generate and manipulate these powers. Warmonga rubbed her temples and tried to come to grips with the mystery.

Warmonga refused to believe that Stoppable's and Shego's powers didn't have a genetic origin. After all, neither subject used any sort of external device to exhibit their abilities. Since the abilities originated from their own bodies, their bodies had to be able to generate and control superhuman traits. Thus, they had to be genetically equipped to do so. So why couldn't she find these genetic traits? Even in infancy, the blueprint had…to…be…there…

Warmonga jumped to her feet, berating herself for her own idiocy. It was so obvious now! Neither Shego nor Stoppable had been born with their powers. Shego had obtained her powers, from a comet, when she was twelve years old. Stoppable had received his powers, from four, jade statues, when he was sixteen. These affects probably only affected the bodily systems needed to actually generate the abilities. Therefore, the blood and tissue samples she had obtained, from both subjects' digestive tracts, might not have the genetic alterations she was seeking! Now, the question was what to do with this knowledge.

There were two possibilities: The more dangerous course was to seize Shego and/or Stoppable and force them to utilize their powers so that she could analyze them. However, such an action would thwart her goal, which was to confront the two of them, unexpectedly, with their own powers. The second course was more uncertain; she might be able to replicate their powers if she could obtain their reproductive cells.

Most ethical geneticists didn't deal with superhuman powers and energies, Warmonga did. As such, she had learned that superhuman powers, obtained later in life, were sometimes reflected in the subject's reproductive cells. While blood cells remained blood cells, and muscle cells remained muscle cells, reproductive cells, which were _designed_ to pass on genetic information, sometimes reflected the superhuman enhancements. The only problem was that she didn't know of any discrete way of obtaining their reproductive cells.

Warmonga came to the conclusion that her best course of action was to build her economic base and observe her two tormentors. In the meantime, the two clones she had developing opened the door to some very…interesting…possibilities.

* * *

"Okay guys, this is the place," Little Jack told his companions, as they crouched in a drainage ditch in one of Seattle's less than affluent quarters. "Remember what we said before, don't go shooting for the hell of it. If Bigfoot has our medicine in here, we don't want to shoot it up." Smoke, Robbie, and the six other Boyz Little Jack had selected nodded at him.

Little Jack felt a surge of confident swagger for the first time since Bigfoot had injected him. This was what had allowed the Boyz to rule their turf: a combination of his toughness, Robbie's business savvy and Smoke's planing. There was no more following commands and hoping for the best. In the next few minutes, they would live or die depending on their own wits, guts and toughness.

"We don't know what we're going to find inside," Little Jack whispered. "So we stick together and keep cool. Take out anyone who fights but don't waste anyone who ain't fighting back. We might need 'em later. Now, is everyone ready to go?"

The assembled Boyz nodded their readiness.

"Okay," Little Jack nodded back. "Sticker's on the cutters and Tubs and Flex have the ram. Let's go!"

The small band burst out of the drainage ditch and across the night-deserted street. The first obstacle was a perimeter fence, with a padlocked gate. This proved to be no hindrance as Sticker, following the plan, stepped forward with the bolt cutters. The rest of the Boyz stood watch; weapons out, as their comrade cut the padlock and opened the fence. Sticker returned the cutters to his back sheath as the band swarmed through the opening and approached the factory's door.

Tubs and Flex, the two largest of the Boyz present, stepped forward with a battering ram similar to those used by firefighters and police. The two bulky, young men swung the ram twice, sending the door flying into the supposedly abandoned building. The rest of the Boyz swarmed into the building keeping Flex, who carried the ram, near the center of their group. They found themselves in what must have once been the factory's office section. Dust lay thick on the floors, mute testament that nobody had been in this area for weeks, at least.

Little Jack had expected this. After tracking the delivery boy to this building, he had observed the site for a couple of days. The only activity he had ever seen had been at the back of the factory, where the loading docks were located. Little Jack guessed that any operation would be taking place near the docks and he hoped that anybody there wouldn't be expecting an assault to come through the buildings abandoned sections. Thus, he led the Boyz through the derelict office section, following hallways that would lead them towards the back. Soon, they found their way blocked by a steel door.

Little Jack first tried the knob, which was locked. He kicked the door and, not surprisingly, failed to break through. He waved behind him and the rest of his band backed off, making room for Flex and Tubs to move forward and ply the ram again. Two more strikes shattered the bolt and sent the door flying open. As they had planned, Tubs and Flex dropped to the ground, allowing the rest of the Boyz to vault over them, guns ready. They found themselves in a pitch-black, echoing space.

Again, Little Jack had expected this, guessing that they had entered the old manufacturing area. Half of the Boyz produced flashlights while the other half kept their guns ready. Little Jack and Robbie searched the wall until they found a bank of light switches. A handful of lights came on when the two men turned on the switches, revealing a deserted, open space. Wasting no time, the Boyz crossed the abandoned manufacturing floor.

"I've been in factories before," Smoke whispered to his companions, when they reached the far wall. "I think there's more open space, before we get to the shipping docks, on the other side of this wall. Let's check out the doors before we open any."

The rest of the Boyz remained alert while Smoke, Robbie and Little Jack inspected the doors. There were three personnel doors and a vehicle, rollup type door. All three gangsters noticed that the dust near the doors had been disturbed and that the doors were all brand new.

"Okay, I say we go with the middle one," Smoke told the others. "If there isn't anything in there, we work to our left and…oh, shit!"

The other Boyz followed Smoke's gesture up into the poorly lit rafters, where they saw several, very new looking security cameras.

"No time!" Smoke snapped. "They may know we're here! We gotta move now!"

* * *

"Warmonga," a message bellowed over the intercom speaker. "The cameras have picked up a band of armed men entering the factory. They will be here shortly."

"How many and who?" Warmonga demanded, reaching for her staff.

"Roughly ten," her technician answered. "It's hard to count them. I think they're from group twelve-A."

"The Boyz," Warmonga concluded. "We…utilized…one of their younger members a short time ago."

"Affirmative, they're approaching through the old factory. They should be in the bulk production facility in minutes."

"Okay, I want the two of you to get under cover," Warmonga told her assistants. "I'll deal with these. Get ready, we'll be moving to our secondary location as soon as I've eliminated this threat."

"Understood, what about our production tanks?"

"It's too risky to take them with us. We'll move the supporting hardware to the new location, but destroy the tanks themselves."

"It will take some time to acquire new tanks," the technician reminded her.

"We have a three day supply of our product on hand," Warmonga informed him. "And we'll be at partial production levels within twenty-four hours. The three-day stock we have will be enough to supplement our production until we're fully on line. Now move! I can't risk loosing you!"

"We're ducking and hiding now."

Warmonga chuckled and trotted out of her specialty lab, where she kept the production tanks with the clones, and jogged up the stairs to the old factory's main level. It only took her moments to reach the bulk production facility.

* * *

"Take the door!" Little Jack yelled.

It took Flex and Tubs four strikes to break down the middle door, a mute testament to its strength. The two large gangsters stood aside while the rest of the pack swarmed through the open doorway. They found themselves in a clean, well-lit corridor. The corridor terminated at a set of airtight doors, perhaps thirty feet in. Little Jack led the way down the corridor and through the doors, with Flex and Tubs bringing up the rear. Little Jack found himself and the rest of the Boyz in a laboratory of some sort. They stared around in horrified amazement, trying not to believe that they were actually seeing what they had found. They were all still stunned when a door on the far wall opened, admitting a woman unlike any they had ever seen.

She had green skin, yellow eyes and long, purple hair. She was wearing some sort of leotard, which showed off her athletic, yet feminine form. She carried some sort of a lethal looking staff and wore a smile that was almost alluring yet, none of these attributes made the assembled Boyz stare at her in wonder.

It was the fact that she stood nine feet tall that had them shocked into immobility.

"B-B-Bigfoot?" Smoke gasped. Little Jack's own mind suddenly started working again. It couldn't be anyone else.

In response, the giantess's smile shifted from alluring to predatory. She produced a small control device from a pouch at her hip and pressed a button.

The lights went out.

All hell broke loose.

The Boyz weren't idiots. Several produced flashlights while the remainder kept their weapons ready. Unfortunately for them, Warmonga didn't need _things_ to function in the dark, she had modified herself for this contingency. It had been child's play for her to provide herself with a pit viper's heat sensing organs. Manipulating her own body's systems too keep these organs cool enough to remain useful had been more difficult, but the effort was paying off at this moment. While Warmonga couldn't recognize the men she was confronting, she could see them as warm blobs in the cool room. Because she had two such organs, she even had the depth perception needed to strike from a distance.

Before the terrified men could illuminate her, Warmonga tossed three bags, each containing twenty pounds of lead shot. Each of the bags struck one of the men with a flashlight, sending them sprawling back, senseless. The armed men started to shoot wildly, and Warmonga avoided the gunfire by leaping the twenty feet up to the room's exposed girders. Smiling to herself, she clung to the underside of one of the beams and began to shinny along it, positioning herself above her assailants.

Little Jack was caught by surprise, but he recovered quickly. He snarled at the rest of the Boyz to take cover and quit shooting. Although badly shaken by whatever had taken out the guys with the flashlights, he personally picked up a light and started to scan the room. Two other Boyz did so, while the remaining three prepared to shoot anything the lights revealed. Several minutes passed with the Boyz unable to spot their quarry. Little Jack, unnerved by his surroundings, had the uncomfortable thought that Bigfoot wasn't the victim in this confrontation.

"Okay, we move!" He snarled to his companions. "Follow me!"

Little Jack had only managed a couple of feet towards the door Bigfoot had entered, entertaining a vague idea that…she?…must have retreated the way she had come in, when thunder sounded behind him.

It hadn't been easy for Warmonga to swing along the girders and reach her goal. Since the girders were the same temperature as the surrounding air, she could not see them using her pit viper's senses. Still, her enhanced strength and large size allowed her to feel her way from handhold to handhold, well above the frightened gangsters. She reached her goal shortly after one of the gangsters regained control of the situation. Smiling widely, the geneticist released her current handhold and dropped into the middle of the nervous men.

Warmonga swung her staff in a wide arc the moment her feet touched the floor, sending two more of the would-be assailants flying across the room. Bullets flew wild as a flashlight beam illuminated the giantess, allowing one of the larger men to swing a battering ram at her. Warmonga dropped her staff and caught the ram with one hand, stopping it cold. Warmonga savored the gangster's look of terror for the second it took her to deliver a massive, open-palmed strike to his stomach.

The remainder of the gangsters didn't give her time to gloat. They had dropped their automatic weapons and pulled out ether handguns or other close-quarters fighting implements. Flashlights, wielded by jittery hands, illuminated the immediate area with a surreal, shaky light as the overwhelming woman spun to face the remaining thugs. She felt two bullets tear into her torso before two more gangsters. One of the men thrust with a knife while the other swung his flashlight like a billy club.

Redundant organs and sheer mass allowed Warmonga to ignore the gunshots, then her two assailants were too close for the gunman to risk shooting again. Lashing out, she caught both of her assailants by their leading wrists and squeezed. Bones broke, the thugs dropped their weapons and Warmonga unleashed her surprise: She had used electric eel DNA to help her withstand Shego's plasma blasts. This same DNA allowed her to deliver an incapacitating shock to the two thugs, dropping them senseless to the ground.

Little Jack stared with horror as the huge woman he assumed was Bigfoot tore through his hit squad. He figured that most of the rounds he had sent at her had flown wild. He had hit her twice, right before she had taken out Smoke and Robbie, then fired his last round into her when she dropped them. He knew that he didn't have enough time to change clips, but he tried anyway. He managed to eject the empty clip before a massive hand clamped over the weapon, preventing him from inserting the new one. A second hand caught him by the collar and effortlessly lifted him off of the ground.

"I guess I'm dead," he muttered, hoping that Bigfoot would make it quick.

"Not hardly," Warmonga murmured to him, in an almost friendly manner. "Killing is very wasteful. Why kill when you can exploit?"

Little Jack had a moment of abject terror, recalling what was in the room around him, before an electrical shock made everything go black.

"Alright guys, get in here," Warmonga called over her wrist communication device. She re-enabled the buildings lighting so that her technicians could see.

"Fire up the incinerator," she continued. "I want all of the production tanks destroyed except for the two that are holding my…pet projects."

"Are you uninjured?" Her lead technician asked her.

"I've been hit in one lung and, I believe, my large intestine. I have enough energy reserves to heal the damage before I need to eat again. As for the lung, I can operate on the other three until that damage heals up, although it's going to be messy draining the blood out of the injured one."

"What do we do after we dispose of the tanks?" The second technician asked.

"Load up the supporting hardware and bring it to the new location," Warmonga instructed him. "We have a lot of work to do to get the new facility on line. Fortunately," here, she gestured to the moaning and writhing Boyz. "We have some volunteers to help us get back on line."

* * *

_A/N:_

_The last day of the contest is coming up! Thanks for staying with me this long and thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for his beta work. Who will win? Stay tuned. _

_Until my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	12. Contest Finale

Chapter 12: Contest Finale

Kim woke up in a decidedly grumpy mood for the last day of the contest. While she generally enjoyed waking up cuddled with Ron, last night's events made it more frustrating than comforting. She looked at the alarm clock and realized that if she wanted to help Bonnie win this contest, she was going to have to get up and get moving. She sighed, prodded Ron to get him moving, then managed to turn off the alarm just before it would have sounded.

The teens stumbled about, getting organized for day's events. Kim set out her clothes for the day then turned to speak with Ron, only to find him staring at the shower. Kim opened her mouth to berate him for just standing there, before she stopped to stare at the hygienic fixture, herself.

They both needed showers to start the day and she wasn't about to use hers while Bonnie was still in her room. Right now, Ron was probably wracking his brain to broach the subject of sharing the morning ritual and Kim was sorely tempted. If he were to ask at this moment, she would agree, with no doubt where it would lead and that it would take up enough time that they wouldn't be able to assist Bonnie. Kim found herself debating what to do.

On the one hand, she had agreed to _accompany_ Bonnie, but she had never really agreed to _assist_ her. That had been implied. Would she really be betraying anybody's trust by making love with Ron, rather than watching Bonnie preen and strut in this disgusting contest?

Then again, her implied word was as good as her spoken promise, wasn't it? When she and Ron agreed to accompany Bonnie on this little adventure, they had implied that they were going to help her win it. Not only that, they had helped the girl earlier in the week. Didn't that mean that she had an obligation to fulfill her commitment to Bonnie, even at the expense of indulging in some mutual seduction with Ron?

Suddenly, the vision of Bonnie listening at their wall intruded upon Kim's internal debate, settling the argument.

"Why don't I get breakfast started while you take the first crack at the bathroom?" Ron suggested. His quick glance at the point he had bounced the book off of the wall told Kim that he was thinking the same thing. Kim heaved a massive sigh and got on with the day.

After finishing breakfast, Kim stalked next to Bonnie on the way to the Dining Lair. "So, what's the devious plan for today?" She grumbled. The morning interaction between the three teens had been awkward, to say the least.

"Nothing complicated," Bonnie replied. "I'm just going to turn on the charm. That's why I ate with you and Ron this morning, I had a good meal so I can daintily pick at my food, while flirting with Junior."

The two continued to walk silently for a couple more minutes until, just before they reached the Dining Lair, Bonnie spun to confront Kim.

"Look, Kim," she said. "I'm sorry I interrupted the two of you last night."

"That was a smart move," Kim conceded. "Camille was up to something and you brought it to our attention. Sure, I didn't exactly like the timing but…"

"That made sense, but wasn't cool of me to move in with you two for the night," Bonnie pointed out. "I was scared and I didn't know what to do…"

"That was smart, as well," Kim interrupted Bonnie's apology. "When the bad guy, or this case girl, is up to no good, you want to take precautions. Now, what wasn't cool…"

"Was listening in on you two," Bonnie admitted. "C'mon Possible, if the roles had been reversed…"

"I would _**not**_ listen in on you and Junior, or Brick, or anybody else you might have been with!" Kim snarled.

"You wouldn't be curious?"

"Yeah, I would be curious," Kim admitted, keeping a tight lid on her anger, "But I would have kept it under control and respected your privacy."

"What if it was your friend, Monique having some fun with her BF?"

"It would have been the same sitch," Kim insisted. "I would get her alone later, and pump her for details, but I would respect her privacy."

"If it makes you feel any better," Bonnie's voice was strangely sincere. "I was kind of hoping that you and him would be doing something. I knew I told you I'd keep clear and I hoped the two of you would get around me being in the suite."

"So you put your ear to the wall."

"Okay, fine, I was snooping! I'm not proud of it but I was thinking that if the two of you still managed to…"

"Then you wouldn't have to feel guilty about interrupting," Kim concluded.

"Yeah," Bonnie answered.

"Bonnie, let's get something clear between the two of us," Kim snarled at her former rival. "We're not friends! You've gotten better since graduation, and we might work that way someday, but we're soooo far from being friends and we're even farther away from being to the point where I'd dish about **that** with you!"

"I can accept that," Bonnie nodded. "This is the last day, K. Once I win, you'll be free of me for as long as you want."

"So lets go finish this stinkin' contest!"

Bonnie nodded again and strutted into the Dining Lair, where Senior, Junior, and Camille were already seated. Even though Kim wasn't wired that way, her years of cheerleading had taught her to judge other girls' poise and beauty. So far, she gave Bonnie a slight advantage in poise. As for beauty, it all came down to Junior's views on the subject. Ron was correct in that Bonnie had a more athletic, healthy figure but if Junior went for the 'rail thin' look…

Ron joined Kim shortly before Senior announced the end of the meal and outlined the day's activities.

"My two most lovely and devious, prospective daughters in law," he announced, rising to his feet and saluting them with his glass. "I will now inform you about the day's activities. My daughter in law must be able to remain cool, collected and lovely at all times, and in all situations. We will start today with a little light exercise; you will compete against each other in a badminton match, followed by a foursome croquet match with Junior and myself. These matches will allow Junior to see how you handle stress and judge your athletic abilities."

"After croquet, we will have lunch, followed by some time at the pool. Consider the pool to be similar to a pageant's swimsuit competition. After lounging about the pool for an hour or so, we will return inside where the two of you will indulge in poetry reading and discussion. This will showcase your grasp of fine literature. After this, my wealthy guests will arrive. As they are all arriving on their own transportation, they will arrive at different times. Each of you will greet two of my guests, acting as members of my family. This will allow Junior to see how you interact with the powerful, wealthy individuals my daughter-in-law will find herself dealing with, continuously."

"Finally, this evening the two of you will dress in your finest, formal wear and meet us in the Banquet Lair. Here, Junior will make his choice, based upon the grace, poise, and beauty you show throughout this day. You have an hour to prepare yourselves, before meeting at the badminton court. Good luck, ladies."

Senior set down his glass and left the room, followed by Junior. For a moment, the two contestants stared at each other. Camille was the first to act, standing up and striding towards her suite. Bonnie quickly collected Kim and headed towards her own rooms.

"Any suggestions?" The brunette asked, disappearing into her bathroom to change.

"Not really," Kim told her. "You have a big advantage for the first event. Just remember to be gracious."

"Kim? I've never been gracious, remember?"

"Okay, then _**act**_ gracious, like you were to the squads we beat back in the day. Ron and I will be close by, and we'll coach you as much as we can. Whatever you do, don't accept anything from anybody, even Ron or me, unless you can see Camille. She still might try something."

"That's true, isn't it?" Bonnie commented, stepping out of the bathroom wearing Monique's active wear ensemble. "She'd rather do something tricky than take me on honestly. Well, let's not give her the chance. C'mon guys, let's go crush the competition."

Bonnie led the way out of her quarters and to the badminton court, where Senior and Junior were waiting. Minutes later, Camille arrived. While the fallen heiress initially caught Junior's (and to Kim's amused chagrin, Ron's) eye, the males quickly lost most of their interest. Camille had taken a different approach to fashion than Monique had. The former socialite was clearly trying to catch the males' attention, wearing an extremely short skirt and an abbreviated top. Bonnie's ensemble, while flattering her form, was clearly made with physical activity in mind. Senior Senior Senior acted as the game's only official, taking an elevated seat under a parasol, and announced that the match was on.

Both young women understood the basic rules and scoring, but neither had any experience with the sport outside of a few, casual games. It didn't take long for Kim to conclude that nobody would pay to watch this match, at least for the actual display of skill. Bonnie still managed to quickly gain the upper hand. While neither girl had any appreciable experience, the brunette was an athlete. Kim also had to admit that Ron had been correct with another observation, Bonnie had gained her figure through exercise and a healthy diet, while Camille had gained hers through fad diets. Bonnie not only had a speed and strength advantage; she had an endurance advantage, as well. It didn't take long before Camille was staggering about her side of the court, barely on her feet.

It took Bonnie less than an hour to win her match. Bonnie, while winded, still looked ready to compete while Camille looked like she was ready to collapse. Senior, realizing that Camille was probably in danger of a heat injury, called for a short break before croquet. Kim had expected Camille to be more of a competitor at this less-physical activity, but the badminton match had left her exhausted. While Bonnie wasn't as dominant as she had been swinging a racquet, she still managed to outplay Camille. Furthermore, Kim noted, she managed to have some charming, witty conversations with Junior while Camille spent her time gasping for breath.

With the croquet match finished, Senior announced that they would have a half-hour break before lunch. Bonnie didn't hesitate, as soon as the Seniors turned their backs, she grabbed her attendants and sprinted for her quarters. Leaving Ron in the living room, the girls ducked into the bathroom so that they could discuss strategy while Bonnie rinsed off her sweat. The two girls came to the conclusion that they needed to watch Camille closely, since the changeling had to realize that she was in danger of losing. Bonnie quickly put on another casual wear ensemble and rushed back to the Dining Lair, arriving shortly after Camille.

Again, Kim was forced to note the difference in the two girls' wardrobes. While Monique's creation complimented Bonnie very well, Camille had opted for slightly more exposure than was really appropriate for the occasion. Still, she seemed to catch Junior's attention, at least initially. However, Kim noticed that the younger Senior's eyes were drifting to Bonnie more and more often, as the meal wore on. Again, while Camille could draw eyes with her "overexposure", Bonnie's more conservative, yet flirty, wardrobe maintained the gent's interest. All things considered, Kim considered lunch to be more or less a draw. The contestants left the Dining Lair and returned to their suites to prepare for the swimsuit competition.

"So Kim, what suit do you think?" Bonnie asked.

"The one piece," Kim told her. "Junior seems to be a little more drawn to flirty than brazen."

"You've noticed that, too?" Bonnie commented, grabbing the particular article of clothing and rushing into the bathroom. "I'm beginning to think that Miss Perfect has a bit of a temptress side to her." Kim could hear the grin on the other side of the door.

"Come off it, Bonnie," Kim shook her head. "Your job is to catch Junior's eye and I'm just pointing out what seems to be working."

"Okay then, try telling me that you aren't going to have Monique make a suit for you," Bonnie prompted.

"It'll be ready when I get back from this mission," Kim admitted, certain that Bonnie could hear her grin, now.

"Does Ron know that you're going to flirt him up?"

"The most important element in any conquest is surprise," Kim informed her rival.

"So Miss Perfect has a human side," Bonnie observed. "There's hope for you after all! Let's go make Junior's jaw drop to the deck."

Camille was already lounging poolside when Bonnie arrived. Kim left her charge and joined Ron on the wall overlooking the pool area.

"Mouth shut and no dirty thoughts," Kim instructed her boyfriend, who jumped guiltily.

"KP, I…uh…I was…"

"Admiring the scenery just a little too much," Kim commented. "Keep your eyes on Camille…professionally." Kim then grinned at her PF. "Take it easy, I'm just having a little fun. Let's watch Bonnie destroy Camille."

Before long, Junior arrived on the pool deck. As happened during the two earlier 'events', Camille's outrageous wardrobe quickly caught Junior's eye. However, this time he showed every inclination of keeping his eyes on Camille. While he chatted with both girls, he spent more time, and seemed to be a bit more smitten, with the scantily clad changeling. Bonnie, however, wasn't ready to just concede Junior's attentions. The next time Junior left Camille to speak to her, the brunette jumped into the pool.

"Good move, Bonnie," Kim murmured.

"Okay, I'll admit that jumping into a pool during a hot day is a good move," Ron admitted. "But I'm not seeing how this helps her win Junior."

"You don't understand fashion, do you?"

"Hey, if it covers what it's supposed to cover, what more is there to know?"

"That's why women's fashion is such a bigger market than men's fashion," Kim answered, with a shake of her head.

"Okay, for the sake of argument, let's assume I don't know what you're talking about," Ron shrugged his shoulders. "What does that have to do with Bonnie taking a swim?"

"Camille probably can't do it," Kim told him, gesturing towards Junior, who had just jumped into the pool with the brunette. "Like you said, it's a hot day and a dip feels great. Now Bonnie can spend some time with Junior that Camille can't."

"Still not understanding," Ron informed his girlfriend. "I don't know for sure that Camille can't swim, but the pool has a shallow end. Just like cheese on cardboard is still cheese, a shallow pool is still a pool."

"You don't get it, do you?" Kim asked, amazed. Ron simply shook his head. "Camille can't get in the pool because her suit probably isn't made to get wet while being worn."

"What!?" Ron looked incredulous. "Are you kidding me?" Kim shook her head. "Why would anybody make or buy a swimsuit that you can't swim in?"

"That suit is supposed to make an impression," Kim explained.

"But why…I still don't understand," Ron confessed. "Why go to a beach or a pool if you're not going to swim? I mean, I've spent some time on some meals' visual presentation, but I always meant for them to be eaten. Why not make a suit that looks good but you can still swim in?"

"Water alters the fabric's fit, so if you're really trying to be bold…" Kim tried to explain, then gave up. "I don't think you'll ever understand, and I hope you never do."

"I'll just let it go at that," Ron nodded. "But it looks like Bon-Bon has grabbed the advantage again."

"That she has," Kim agreed, looking to where Bonnie and Junior were playing some sort of water-basketball game. Camille, rather than stewing, was looking smug. Kim didn't like calm, collected opponents.

Eventually, the pool event came to an end and Team Possible escorted Bonnie to her suite for a quick rinse before the literary event. Since neither teen had managed much sleep the night before, Ron took over 'Bonnie-sitting' for the early afternoon. Kim retired to Ron's room to catch a nap while Ron accompanied Bonnie to the poetry reading. It seemed that her head had no sooner hit the pillow than the Kimmunicator was going off, waking her for the evening's events.

"Senior's guests are due to start arriving in another hour or so," Bonnie informed Kim, when the redhead met back up with the other two Middleton teens in Bonnie's suite. "I drew Martin Smarty and Pop Pop Porter. I'll greet them when they arrive. Now, I'm going to put on some business wear and get ready."

"What happened to Ron?" Kim asked Bonnie, pointing to the blonde. Ron was sitting on the couch with a dazed, horrified expression on his face.

"The poetry reading didn't go too well," Bonnie answered. "I've never been much on highbrow literature and Camille was even worse. The only poems she knew had the word 'Nantucket' in the first phrase. Anyway, Senior tried to explain the finer points of most of the poetry and it sort of left Ron and Junior confused."

"It was like listening to your dad and Wade discuss four dimensional interception vectors," Ron chimed in, his voice week. "I managed to keep up for a few seconds, then I was lost in a sea of metrical patterns, rhymes and other terms I couldn't understand."

"I was kind of lost, as well," Bonnie admitted. "I don't think that Senior was terribly impressed with any of us; Camille, me, Junior or Ron. Anyway, Kim, can you stay with me while Ron goes back to your quarters? I'm going to be rushing around getting dressed and I'd rather have your opinion."

"That's just as well," Ron said, heaving himself to his feet. "I've had enough of things I can't understand for one day." Ron stalked into Bonnie's bathroom and reported 'all clear' before leaving the suite.

"It's almost over, K," Bonnie commented, selecting her clothing for her greeting duties. "In a couple more hours, you'll be free of me and I'll be married."

"You haven't won yet," Kim warned as Bonnie disappeared into her bathroom. "Remember, we figured Camille would lose the last two contests, but she's still here. The fact that she _**didn't**_ get angry when you one-upped her at the pool has me suspicious. Anyway, you have the upper hand at the moment, but she knows that as well as we do. She'll have the advantage during the next event, the greetings. After all, she's used to rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous."

"So she's going to do something tricky?" The question emerged from the bathroom.

"I'm pretty sure, but I don't know what. That's why we aren't letting you off on your own right now."

"And it's why Ron checked my bathroom before leaving?"

"Exactly," Kim called back. "If you were in her shoes, what would you try right now?"

"I can't really think of it," Bonnie confessed. "It's really just hit me that I'll be married in a couple of hours. I mean, back in the U.S. it was just a way to avoid continued probation and maybe prison. Now, I'm really coming to grips with what it means."

"I thought you'd be excited," Kim quipped. "I mean, you're working hard enough to win the competition."

"And I'm wondering if I really want to win," Bonnie added. "I know that it's only going to be a marriage in name only, but it's still a pretty big contract."

"I would think that it would be a life you would want," Kim observed.

"Six months ago, so would I," Bonnie's voice replied. "Now, the thought of spending the rest of my life on this island with Junior is scary. I know I dealt Pump, but this is a pretty big price to pay for a couple of mistakes."

"Those mistakes cost more people than you," Kim snarled back. "Ron didn't exactly enjoy choking out you, or any of the other teens he had to and he got off light! When you get me thinking of all the lives you helped mess up, I have a hard time feeling any sympathy."

"Yeah, I can understand that," Bonnie replied, stepping out of the bathroom. "I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me but I have to wonder, you've put yourself in danger, over and over for the last several years. You've never had anything happen to you that will affect you for the rest of your life but me? I got hooked on pump and I might pay for it for the rest of my life."

"I haven't exactly had it easy," Kim admitted. "Not many people know about this, but that abdominal wound I took last fall might have kept me from ever having children."

"What?" Bonnie gasped.

"You heard me," Kim grumbled. "The worst part is that the doctors can't say anything for sure. I won't know if I can or not until we start trying."

"Well, that's something you have on me," Bonnie told her former rival. "You've actually found someone who you want to do that with… you're going to marry Ron, aren't you?"

"Oh, yeah," Kim grinned back.

"I envy you, K, I really do," Bonnie admitted. "I mean, I've been jealous of how you always beat me in school but this is different. The two of you really have something special and it makes me want something like it, and get it the way you two did. You guys didn't take any short cuts or play any tricks on each other, you just took your time and made it something…amazing."

"I know," Kim whispered back. "I know that we're nowhere near ready to plan on kids but…"

"You want it to be perfect for the two of you," Bonnie finished for her. "You love each other so much that you want the whole thing." Bonnie shook her head, sadly, "for what it's worth, I hope you have the fairytale ending."

"Thanks, Bonnie, but we aren't going to have any ending until we finish this contest.

The girls decided to let Ron sleep while Bonnie and Camille greeted Senior's guests. After all the guests had arrived, the two contestants mingled with them and the Seniors for a little over an hour. As Kim suspected, Camille handled herself a little better than Bonnie did, probably due to her familiarity with the upper crust. Still, Junior seemed to be favoring Bonnie over her competitor as the contestants left the gathering to don their formal attire.

The sun had already set when Kim and Ron escorted Bonnie to her Dressing Lair, backstage at Senior's Formal Banquet Lair. Camille had already gone to her Dressing Lair. Kim and Ron knew the drill; Senior would address his guests, then Junior would take the stage. After this, the contestants would take to the stage where Junior, in full view of Senior's wealthy friends, would make his choice. Immediately after the choice, a priest would marry the couple.

Kim and Ron, after checking Bonnie's Room, stood guard outside the door. They kept a careful eye on Camille's door, since the competition seemed a little too confident. Senior passed by the two teens, inclining his head politely. He took his position behind the closed curtains and signaled one of his henchpersons, who drew open the curtains.

"My dear and well-to-do guests," he announced. "I have already told all of you about my medical condition. I am not long for this world that has given all of us such joy, but I do not want to dwell upon my passing. I wish to concentrate upon the joy that the future may hold. For the last several days, a number of beautiful, charming and devious young ladies have competed for my son's hand in marriage. I am delighted to inform you all that we have narrowed the field down to two young women. Tonight, Junior will choose between these young ladies and you will all witness his wedding. Therefore, without any further delays, let me present my son, Senior Senior Junior."

The audience couldn't see Kim and Ron, but the teens could easily hear the polite applause and see Junior, looking quite dapper in his tailored tuxedo, take his place on the stage.

"Honored guests of my papa," the younger Senior addressed the audience. "It gives me great happiness to happily announce my happy occasion. I now make the introductions that will introduce these young ladies to you. First of all, I introduce Miss Bonnie Rockwaller."

Kim knocked on Bonnie's door and the tall brunette emerged, looking like she was ready to faint. She took a deep breath, however, and regained her composure. The very picture of beauty and grace, Bonnie Rockwaller paraded out onto the stage, eliciting a round of applause from Senior's guests. Bonnie gave Junior a chaste kiss on his cheek then stood to one side, flexing one leg too show off her figure.

"Now I will make the introduction that will introduce the second of the two young ladies. Honored guests of my father, let me introduce Miss Camille Leon."

Even Ron, who knew absolutely nothing about fashion, was shocked when he saw Camille. The fallen heiress emerged from her Dressing Lair wearing a very baggy, man's tuxedo. The blonde favored Team Possible with a smirk before strutting onto the stage, eliciting gasps from Senior's guests. Camille kissed the cheek opposite of the one Bonnie had, then struck a pose on Junior's other side. Junior continued his presentation while the guests continued to murmur in confusion.

"The time has come for it to be time for me to make my choice," he announced. "I shall now select between these two, lovely and evil ladies, but which one?"

Junior turned to Bonnie. "Miss Bonnie Rockwaller," he announced. "Is beautiful, athletic, and possessed of a calculating mind that is most calculating. Her fashion sense and grace are eclipsed only by her breathtaking hotness."

Now, Junior turned to Camille. He seemed to notice her odd wardrobe for the first time, but gamely continued with his presentation. "Miss Camille Leon," he declared. "Is also quite attractive and even more devious. She eliminated two of the competing girls herself. Add to this is the fact that her socialite background has prepared her for a life among wealth and privilege. Still, how will I choose between the two?"

Now Junior, fanning the drama, took a position directly between the two contestants. "I have made my choice!" He announced, pulling a diamond ring from his pocket. The young man started to turn towards Bonnie, when Camille's subtle movement made him halt. As contestant, guest, host and guard stared in shocked amazement, Camille's features altered, darkened and expanded until she stood as a duplicate of…

Senior Senior Junior.

For several heartbeats, silence reigned in the Formal Banquet Lair until Junior's voice broke the tension.

"So…lovely…" the heir stammered. "So…beautiful." He turned completely towards Camille, turning his back upon a shocked and fuming Bonnie.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Bonnie snapped.

"This goes beyond sick and wrong," Ron whined to Kim. "This goes way beyond wrongsick. This makes wrongsick look pure and wholesome!" Kim could only nod her speechless agreement.

"My son, what is the meaning of this?" Senior asked, as Junior, in an awestruck daze, approached his doppelganger.

"My perfect mate!" Junior declared. "The one whose face I will never grow tired of seeing when I see it!"

"This so not going to happen," Kim monotoned, unable to pull her eyes from the scene. "At least not in front of me."

"Dude! No! NOOOOOOoooo!" Ron couldn't help but shriek.

As the rest of the island stared in dumbstruck horror, Senior Senior Junior slipped the ring upon a finger that mimicked his own. Like watching a train wreck, all eyes couldn't stop watching as Junior kissed lips upon a face that was identical to his.

The stunned silence only ended when Senior Senior Senior collapsed in a dead faint.

* * *

_A/N: For your convenience, I have heated the tar, gathered the feathers, and am prepared to face my just punishment. I must thank Joe Stoppinghem for his beta services, and for not quitting after the scene you just read. One chapter to go folks and don't worry, no more brain soap._

_Best Wishes,_

_daccu65_


	13. Epiloge

Chapter 13: Epilogue

Kim, Ron and Bonnie had expected Senior's aircraft to take them all the way home, but Global Justice had different ideas. Instead, shortly after the marriage ceremony, the international crime-fighting organization sent word that they had transport in the area, heading towards Middleton. So instead of taking them all the way to Middleton, Senior's luxurious aircraft dropped them off at Palermo.

"Thanks for the ride," Kim addressed Senior's pilot.

"It was a privilege to carry you, Miss Possible," the pilot replied. "Even if we hadn't already pledged to carry you home, we still owe you for what you did for us."

"Oh, anybody could have given Senior Senior Senior CPR, while everyone else was staring at Junior after he made his choice," Kim replied, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Perhaps that is true, but you and your partner performed an invaluable service at the ceremony."

"Okay, I understand that Senior wanted to attend his son's wedding," Kim told the pilot. "And at least Camille returned to her own form, but was it wise to have the ceremony so soon? I mean really, as soon as the two of them were at the altar the poor old man fainted. Then as soon as he recovered, he fainted again!"

"Eighteen times," Ron added, stepping into the cockpit. "He isn't a very big man, but it was starting to get a little tiring, catching him every few minutes."

"Until you fetched the lounger for him," the pilot concluded. "Being reclined seemed to help him remain conscious, but I digress. Senior Senior Senior has instructed me to assure you that we owe you several favors. You only need to ask."

"Thank you," Kim smiled at the man.

"I came to tell you that I've got Bon-Bon all moved over to the GJ craft," Ron told his team leader. "As well as our gear. We're ready to go at any time."

"It has been a pleasure, Miss Possible," the pilot assured the heroine. I hope that the two of you can visit us again, under pleasant circumstances, soon."

"So do we," Kim assured the man. "But we have to go now."

The two teens left Senior's aircraft and sprinted across the concrete tarmac to the Global Justice craft, where they found Bonnie inside exchanging some heated words with Will Du.

"So Global Justice just couldn't let me have a few more hours of freedom!" She snapped at the agent. "Did you really think that I _could_ run away? First of all, I don't have any money or passports, so I couldn't exactly pull a vanishing act! Secondly, I don't think that Kim and Ron would let me get away! All you would have had to do was wait five hours for Senior's pilot to deliver me home, but no! You have to come get me right away!"

"Miss Rockwaller, I can assure you that that wasn't our intent," Du countered. "I honestly was en route back to our headquarters."

"THAT's really likely," the would-be bride huffed. Unfortunately for Bonnie, she was far too tired, both physically and emotionally, to argue the matter. Instead, she simply buckled herself in, while Kim and Ron did the same just ahead of her. Du took off and soon they were on their way back home.

It didn't take Bonnie long, once they reached their cruising altitude, to realize that Kim and Ron would prefer to be alone for the trip. She looked around the passenger cabin and realized that there were no separate enclosures. The only place to go was the cockpit, with Agent Du. This was just as well, as she wanted to talk a few things over with him anyway. Bonnie got up and made her way to the front of the aircraft, sparing the couple only the briefest of glances.

"Agent Du," she asked, upon entering the cockpit. "Is there any regulations against me sitting up here during the trip? I think Kim and Ron would like to be alone."

"I'd actually enjoy the company," Du responded, pointing to the copilot's seat. "To be honest, the computer is flying the ship, I'm just here in case of a computer failure, or we need to reprogram the destination. Just keep your hands off of the controls. You don't have a songbird with you, do you?"

"No," Bonnie shook her head. "After Junior's Christmas present, I'm done with birds for a lifetime. Why do you ask?"

"A very strange directive," Du shook his head. "Dr. Director has stated that no GJ agent is to have any songbirds in any GJ facility or aircraft. I don't know why, I just abide. Anyway, you're more than welcome to join me."

"Thanks," Bonnie said, settling into the indicated chair. "I'd like to talk about what's going to happen to me next, if you don't mind."

"Some things are classified," Du informed her. "But I'll say what I can."

"Okay, here goes. What happens to me now? Your organization was willing to intervene with a lot of the charges I have stacked up against me. Now that I've lost the competition, is Global Justice going to forget that I tried to win? After all, part of my probation agreement was that I wouldn't leave the county. I left the country on a GJ aircraft, without a passport, so all you need to do is claim ignorance and I'm in prison for a very long time."

"Global Justice does not work that way, Miss Rockwaller," Du assured her. "We will still extend the 'good word' that we promised. As for entering and leaving the country without a passport, that's one of the reasons you're on a Global Justice aircraft right now. We have a pass to go by Customs Officials and Senior's aircraft doesn't."

Du let Bonnie digest the information for a few minutes before he continued. "To be honest, you did an acceptable job. Global Justice is satisfied with the outcome."

"But I didn't win the contest," Bonnie protested. "Camille did by…" here, the teen shuddered, unable to continue.

"You don't need to elaborate," Du assured her, shuddering. "In fact, I'd prefer you didn't. Anyway, I'm going to let you in on Global Justice's acceptability list for this operation: Our first priority was to keep Trudy Dementor from winning the competition. Pairing Senior's wealth and influence with the professor's evil genius would have had terrible consequences for the world."

"What would you have done if she had won?" Bonnie asked.

"That's classified," Du told her. "And you probably don't want to know anyway. The next lowest rung in our acceptability list was Elisabeth Minated. We don't concern ourselves with an individual nation being able to obtain its import tariff revenue and while Mr. Minated's organization has never dealt in drugs or weapons, it would be too easy to alter it and conduct dangerous, destabilizing operations. We considered Miss Minated as a marginally unacceptable winner. This means that we would have attempted to counter her influence, but without crossing certain lines."

"We considered both Lynn and Leon to be marginally acceptable," Du continued. "While both have clear, criminal motivations, neither one is interested in worldwide conquest and oppression. Leon, in particular, is extremely vain. We find it most likely that she will spend a great deal of Senior's wealth on self-indulgent, harmless expenses."

"We considered you to be a completely acceptable winner, Miss Rockwaller. The personality profile we established for you showed you to be vain, but not overtly criminal. Our ideal candidate, and winner, would have been Miss Possible."

"Did you really think that she would have entered the contest?" Bonnie asked. "I mean, she doesn't exactly have her future planned out, but she's determined that it's going to be with Stoppable."

"Dr. Director has become accustomed to operating an authoritative organization and accustomed to Miss Possible meeting all requests for assistance," Du told Bonnie. "When you add the two together, you can see why my superior could assume that Kim would compete, when requested. Perhaps it is just as well that Kim informed her, in no uncertain terms, that there were moral lines that she wouldn't cross."

"Oh," Bonnie replied with a little bit of snarkiness back in her tone. "Kim telling off your boss weakens a potential rival agent, doesn't it."

"It does," Du admitted, with no trace of defensiveness. "But it's more important to Global Justice that this operation has given us a solid grip on Miss Possible's moral qualms."

"I'm not understanding that," Bonnie admitted.

"Very well," Du nodded. "Let me use an example. Would you be willing to become a crime boss's mistress, with everything the term implies, in order to report on his activities?"

"No!" Bonnie snapped back. "I'm not a…"

"I'm not implying that you are," Du interrupted. "Miss Rockwaller, Global Justice exists and works in a very non-ideal world. There are times that we have to get our hands dirty and do things that many people would find morally repugnant. Most of us senior agents have performed acts that…we don't really like to talk about. Miss Possible is on a short list of teens that we have our eyes on, as prospective agents. This incident has taught us that she has certain behavioral boundaries that she is not willing to cross. Our recruitment division will need to take this into account."

"So she might not be able to become an agent because of this?"

"No, but we will have to note what she isn't willing to do. Global Justice makes errors, Miss Rockwaller, but we try to learn from them. In the past, we simply assigned agents to missions based upon ability, without taking moral qualms into consideration. We discovered that not very many people could cross their own moral boundaries, repeatedly, without suffering long term emotional damage. Since a staff of basket cases isn't an asset, we've learned to find each agent's boundaries, and work within them. That isn't easy, since these boundaries are hard to define and they change over time."

"However, I don't think that you are interested in how psychology affects our recruitment and our assignments," Agent Du told her. "Let's get back to the original topic of conversation. Global Justice will honor our commitments to you. While you will find yourself on probation for years to come, you probably won't see any jail time. I can't predict what might happen to you in civil court, but we have no control over that."

"What do you suggest I do?" Bonnie asked.

"Learn from your mistakes and straighten out your life. You're still very young, Miss Rockwaller, so your future is very open. If I were you, I would look into obtaining an education and putting together a career. Who knows, you might even look into a career with Global Justice."

"How did you get started?" Bonnie asked.

"I was considerably younger than you," Du explained. "I had just…

Much to his own surprise, Du found himself enjoying the company on the long flight back to base. Bonnie did as well, learning some surprising things about a Global Justice Agent's life.

Kim had felt a little self-conscious about cuddling Ron on the flight, at least with Bonnie in the passenger compartment. Shortly after takeoff, the brunette had made her way to the cockpit, flashing Kim a brief glance that somehow said: "I'm giving the two of you some alone time." While Kim wasn't about to take things very far with Ron, she felt comfortable letting the reclining seats down and curling up with him. The two teens simply took enjoyment from the close contact and relaxed after a very long day.

"So what do we do when we get back home?" Kim asked.

"It's hard to believe that we've only used up the first month of our summer break," Ron commented. "And we've only been on Senior's Island for less than a week. It seems so much longer."

"Yeah, I think I've aged years after seeing Junior and Camille…"

"DON'T REMIND ME!" Ron yelped. "I've been staring at bars of soap, hoping that it'll wipe the memory, but it just doesn't work!"

"Okay, we will never mention what we saw, ever again," Kim pledged. "The first rule about this mission is that we will never again mention this mission, but that still doesn't answer the question, what do we do for the rest of the summer?"

"Well, maybe we should get on a schedule like we had last summer," Ron suggested. "I could work for Riverna's and I'd like for us to spend as much time as we can with our friends. Who knows when we'll be able to get together again?"

"Yeah, I'll put in some time at Cub Banana, the spending money will be nice this fall. We should probably start some workouts, as well. We've come a long way, but you never know when the next super-villain is going to try to make a name for himself. Not to mention, you might want to get ready for Upperton U's football team this fall."

Kim frowned at that last one. Ron would have to head to Upperton two full weeks before she did, since football workouts started well before classes. Kim had no doubt that the two of them would be called in to testify at various governmental hearings and investigations, dealing with Warrick Loward's takeover attempt. Kim sighed, the one summer she really wanted things to be quiet, it was going to be anything but.

"KP," Ron decided to broach the subject that they were both dancing around. "Do you think we're going to find the time and place to do what we nearly did the last two nights? I mean, it's not like that's all I'm thinking about but…well…"

"You're just about as frustrated as me," Kim finished for him. "Ron, I don't know when our time will come, but we'll get there. We won't get there soon enough in my opinion, but we'll get there."

"I love you, KP, you know that."

"Oh, how I know it."

* * *

A crashing sound pulled Shego out of a sound sleep. The mercenary quickly determined that the home security system wasn't sounding and that she was alone in her bed. Subdued cursing and the sound of wood scraping against wood followed the crashing sound. Shego placed the sounds in the house's spare room, right next to the bedroom. The green-hued woman slipped out of bed and padded silently to the spare room and peeked into the door. What she saw brought a smile to her face.

Lord Montgomery Fiske was struggling to reassemble a crib he had purchased a couple of days ago. The former nobleman had proven fairly good with tools. He had disassembled the crib, sanded down the wooden parts, then repainted them. Now he was struggling to put the piece of furniture back together, and was proving almost hopeless at it. With a glance, Shego could tell that he had almost successfully put together one of the sides, only to have it fly apart under his hands.

"There's no real rush, Monty," Shego pointed out, slipping into the room with him. "I'll be on that medicine that Dr. Sdue gave me for another couple of weeks each month, then he'll be able to harvest some of my eggs, then we'll be able to go through the procedure. According to him, it takes an average of three procedures before we'll get one that takes, so we're talking maybe four months before we're successful, then another nine before we need the crib."

"At this rate, it means that I'll have it done perhaps forty-five minutes before we need it," Monty growled. "I took careful notes when I took the blasted thing apart, so I should simply need to put it back together in reverse order. Why in the name of all that's holy can't I get the cursed thing to stay in one piece?"

"Monty, take a break," Shego told him. "Take it from someone who's made a career out of losing her temper, beating your head against it isn't going to help. Lets grab something to eat and get ready to go to work. You told me that you've figured out one of the collectors is pocketing some of his take, so take your frustrations out on him. There's nothing like beating the tar out of a big guy who thinks he has something over you to calm you down. Trust me, you'll be able to pay attention to the details a whole lot better after that."

"Perhaps you are correct," Monty nodded. "I just wanted to get finished with this chore while it still has my full attention. I sometimes wish that I still had prehensile feet, then I could work more efficiently."

"Hey, it's not like I'm not trying to push the action, y'know," Shego snickered. "We'll get there, no sweat. Now, lets get some food, get to work, kick a little butt then take care of this when we get back."

Although she wouldn't admit it, Shego considered Monty's efforts to be strangely appropriate. They were preparing for their family like they handled life, with planning, hard work, a little violence and a whole lot of profanity.

* * *

Warmonga stalked through her newest factory, content that she would soon have her production on line to meet demand. She couldn't believe that no manufacturer had grasped a simple truth: Since narcotics worked by eliciting a response from the human body, what better to produce a narcotic than another human body? By eliminating a subject's higher brain functions, connecting the body to life support equipment, then manipulating the body's genetics, Warmonga turned humans into efficient production tanks, capable of producing almost any product she wanted to sell.

Did her customers want to feel energetic, ecstatic, calm? Warmonga could manipulate one of her production tanks to produce a product capable of eliciting the mental and physical reactions requested. Weight loss, muscle gain, hair growth and cholesterol control, Warmonga could provide a substance to allow it. She paused a moment, looking at the production tank that was once known as Little Jack. Of course, now he was simply production tank 8M. Warmonga idly wondered if he was aware of what was happening to him. Theoretically, he was incapable of any thought but she couldn't help but wonder. When he had led his mob into her last factory, and had seen previous tank 12M, formerly known as Creeper, his expression had been most memorable.

Warmonga left the main production floor, knowledgeable of the fact that she needed additional production tanks. Transporting her previous tanks had been too risky, since they required careful handling after going into production. The raiding party had provided roughly half of her needs but she would need to influence one of her 'distribution franchises' to bring in some more candidates. That would be easy enough to accomplish. She also needed to scout out another alternate location, preparing for the inevitable day this location became compromised. Finally, she needed some more machinery. Several of the delicate instruments she used to maintain her tanks had sustained damage on the trip to this facility.

Turning her back on tank 8M, Warmonga left her production area and walked down a stairway to her personal quarters. On the way, she passed her private lab, which contained the only two production tanks she had brought from the old facility. She didn't use these tanks, designated 1F and 2F, for product, they held something much more valuable, clones of Shego and Ron Stoppable.

Warmonga paused a moment to contemplate her slowly expanding tanks. While she had accepted the fact that these clones wouldn't exhibit their originals' enhanced traits, they could still prove useful. While she preferred to master the tormentors' traits, a skilled geneticist could accomplish other things, with perfect duplicates to study. Warmonga smiled at the thought of producing a toxin, specifically engineered to affect Shego's DNA, or perhaps a disease made specifically to infect Ron Stoppable. The possibilities were endless.

Shaking her head to clear these pleasant thoughts, Warmonga continued to her personal quarters and picked up a secure phone.

The phone interrupted Dr. William I. Sdue while he was reviewing some of his files. A quick look at the caller ID told him who it was.

"Bigfoot!" He greeted his caller. "What can I do for you?"

"There's a question I like to hear," Warmonga complimented her supplier. "I need some more equipment."

For the next several minutes, Warmonga outlined her requirements while Dr. Sdue jotted them down. Finally…

"I'll be able to get you three quarters of your equipment in 24 hours," he told her. "And the remainder within 48."

"That'll work perfect," Warmonga told him. "I'll be in touch."

"Hey Bigfoot," Sdue broached a subject. "It looks to me like you're playing with genetics."

"I don't like my suppliers being curious," Bigfoot's voice was cold steel.

"Hey, I'm just making an observation," Dr. Sdue replied, picking up a file marked 'Shego Fiske'. "But if you _are_ working on genetics, I might have some very interesting samples for sale in a couple of months."

* * *

_A/N:_

_Hello everyone and thank you again for taking the time to read my story. At this time, I'd like to thank Joe Stoppinghem for his beta work. He really deserves a round of applause so, if you could, drop him a line and say good job._

_I'd like to let everyone know that I am planning on writing a sequel but, as real life has been encroaching more and more forcibly, I don't know when that's going to be. I just wanted to take this opportunity to say that, speaking as someone whose posted stories for 'Misc. Television Shows' and "Underworld", the KP fandom is the most supportive I've run into on Fanfiction._

_Thanks again everyone and, until we meet again;_

_Best wishes,_

_Daccu65_


End file.
